Green & Gold
by Ardna
Summary: The Evil Queen's curse didn't just take the characters of our storybooks into the real world. A rewritten Loki is trapped in Storybrooke also, and only two people know how he came to be there. 1st part of the Loki of Storybrooke series.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's notes: oh, yes I did. A Once Upon A Time/Avengers fic. It's only taken me a few weeks to actually pick one of the half dozen or so ideas from my head. :S_

**Warnings:** _none_

* * *

Rumplestiltskin looked up from his spinning wheel and smiled, strange-coloured eyes crinkling. "There's no need for illusions, dearie," he said. "I know you're here."

With a chuckle, a young and sly-faced individual appeared, clad in black leather accentuated with green. His bare fingers brushed the handle of the ready teapot Rumplestiltskin had left on the table, for he knew that his visitor had been coming, and with a pleased hum the man poured a cup for himself and another for Rumplestiltskin.

The imp took the cup handed to him and smiled craftily across its edge. "Have you come here for a deal, Loki?"

Loki smirked back, a crafty look to his own visage, and sent his tea down his throat to give a reply. "You know I never come here for business, Rumplestiltskin. I'm not nearly so foolish."

Rumplestiltskin gave a high laugh. "Not so foolish, or perhaps not _desperate_ enough?"

Loki smiled sharply. "Oh, I am far from desperate at this time, Rumplestiltskin."

Rumplestiltskin's lips curled upward. "You're in a good mood today," he observed, a peculiar merriment to his own voice. "What trickery have you performed this time?"

Loki sprawled in Rumplestiltskin's chair and Rumplestiltskin readily perched upon the table. "It is certainly the most dangerous action I have taken thus far," Loki admitted. "If anyone were to learn it was my doing, Father would lock me away many years for my treason."

"Odin's an irritable fellow, isn't he?" Rumplestiltskin remarked, wrinkling his face in disapproval. "Never has an appreciation for a good joke."

"You can say that again," Loki grumbled.

"Anyway," Rumplestiltskin lifted his teacup up to his lips and paused to tilt his head curiously. "What did you do?"

"Today was to be my elder brother's crowning," Loki explained.

"And I take it that's not what happened." Already, Rumplestiltskin seemed amused.

"I arranged… an interruption," Loki said vaguely. Rumplestiltskin didn't press – he would just find out the details for himself later on. "Thor is furious, naturally. And he doesn't suspect me as a part of it at all – probably doesn't believe it to be my style." He grinned, but his eyes were cold. "Oh, there is so much Thor doesn't know about me."

"Are you sure it was a good idea to come here this quickly?" Rumplestiltskin inquired. "Since you want to use Thor's anger to push him into a bad decision, you might want to hurry back before he calms down."

"I have nothing to worry about," Loki said dismissively. "The handy thing with your realm, Rumplestiltskin, and all the magic therein, is that time here isn't so spent as it is in other realms. When I return to Asgard, no one will ever know I was gone."

"Yes, that is fortunate for you," Rumplestiltskin agreed. He hopped off the table and went over to the window, squinting out at the sunlight. "But I would be cautious, Loki – plans made out of spite never fail to go wrong." He lifted a pointed finger for emphasis. "Ever."

"It is not spite," Loki protested. "Thor would be a terrible king. Likely he would reignite the war with Jotunheim and send half the warriors of Asgard to their graves. Who deserves a ruler like that?"

"So you are protecting your people?" Rumplestiltskin sounded somewhat dubious.

"Of course." Loki peered down into his empty teacup, not so content as he had been a moment before. "A mere prince I may be, but my responsibilities are first to my realm and its people." A sudden grin flashed into his face. "And as a prince, naturally, I am at liberty to throw in a little chaos when need be. We wouldn't want bored subjects, would we?"

Rumplestiltskin laughed. "Yes, yes, true indeed," he agreed. "Now, you had best get going and complete your plan. A job half done will never do what you want it to."

Loki set down his teacup and rose from Rumplestiltskin's chair, dipping his head in farewell. "Another time, then, Rumplestiltskin." He strode from the room.

The second his boot cleared the threshold, Rumplestiltskin called, "Do you suppose you'll ever make a deal with me, Loki?"

Loki turned and grinned at Rumplestiltskin. "Never," he promised, and promptly went away.

Rumplestiltskin smiled and sat back down at his spinning wheel.

.

Mary Margaret's head was ducked low as she walked down the street, hands stuffed to pockets and shoulders hunched. Emma knew it wasn't from the cold – it was from the heavily judging looks she received from everyone else. Town harlot was a crushing burden to bear, and for someone like Mary Margaret it was frankly unjust. She may have had an affair with a married man, but unlike Emma, the townspeople didn't know how much the whole thing had frightened and confused her. And now, because of them, she had broken the relationship with David anyway.

"Hey," Emma said as she came up and fell into step alongside Mary Margaret, awkwardly attempting a gentle tone. "How you doing?"

"What do you think?" Mary Margaret said miserably.

"I'm sorry, Mary Margaret," Emma said, her sympathy heartfelt.

"I wish David had never woken up," Mary Margaret said fiercely. She stopped and shook her head sadly. "No, no, I don't."

Emma said nothing. She understood.

"Step aside," an unfamiliar voice broke in, and Emma and Mary Margaret quickly stepped back as a tall and slender man went past them, pushing along a cart of books with a will.

"Oh, good morning, Tom!" Mary Margaret said quickly, trying to push some cheerfulness into her voice. She stepped forward. "Here, do you want help with—?"

"I don't need help," Tom said sharply, and Mary Margaret stepped back, stung. Tom stared at her, and Emma didn't detect any malice in the guy, just general unfriendliness. "Good morning," Tom said flatly, probably just as a way of returning Mary Margaret's comment, and drug the book cart up the steps and wrestled it through the library doors.

"Nice guy," Emma remarked sarcastically.

"Oh, that's… Tom," Mary Margaret said, trying very hard not to take his words personally.

"Doesn't seem to like talking so much," Emma noted.

"Oh no, he's actually very eloquent," Mary Margaret told her as they started to walk again, quickly passing the library. "He just doesn't like people very much. It's the way he is."

"Then how do you know he's eloquent?" Emma asked.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Mary Margaret's face. "Sometimes when I'm in the library and I'm really quiet, I can hear him talking to himself. Soliloquizing. He's very good, but he only does it when he thinks no one else is around."

"Talking to himself." Emma looked back at the library. "Well, that certainly explains a lot about him."

"He's not that bad," Mary Margaret insisted. "At least, compared to some of the people around here." She shivered.

"He's certainly no Regina, I'll give him that," Emma concurred. Mentally she made a note to check out this Tom more thoroughly. A cranky guy who talked to himself could not be safe to have around. Plus the English accent made him seem even creepier.

Emma had to split off from Mary Margaret a ways later and head over to the sheriff's station. Mary Margaret thanked her for coming so far, and kept walking.

Henry was waiting in the station when Emma came in, reading the book. "Hey, kid," Emma greeted him with a slightly puzzled tone. "What're you doing up so early? It's a Saturday."

"My mom's never up early on Saturdays," Henry explained. "She doesn't come out of her room anytime before noon. So I thought maybe we could do some work on Operation Cobra."

"I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, Henry," Emma said reluctantly.

Henry looked disappointed, but immediately he tried to find a way to make it better. "Well, I can help you. Then it'll be done faster."

Emma chuckled. "I'm afraid that wouldn't be doable, Henry," she said. She sat down at her desk and Henry promptly dragged over a chair so he could be next to her. Emma gave him a hint of a smile. "I've gotta say, you're the friendliest person I've seen this morning."

"What about Mary Margaret?" Henry wondered.

"Well, she's been feeling a little low lately, Henry."

"Right." Henry nodded, a displeased expression on his face.

"I was thinking mostly of someone else, though," Emma told him. "You know Tom at the library?"

Henry's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Tom. He works at the library."

Henry shook his head slowly. "I go to the library all the time, Emma," he said. "There isn't a Tom there."

"Sure there is," Emma said. "Mary Margaret and I ran into him this morning. She told me she knows him."

"There aren't strangers in Storybrooke," Henry murmured worriedly.

"I just said, Henry, Mary Margaret knows him," Emma said, hoping to calm him.

Henry's expression was doubtful. As Emma unhappily went to her paperwork, Henry returned to his book. This time it seemed like he was looking for something.

.

Tom pulled the book cart behind him as he restacked the books in their correct locations, neatly arranging them in even rows. He stopped as he noticed the shrill squeaking of one of the wheels, and immediately disappeared into a room in a nook of the library wherein he stored his things. He grabbed some grease for the wheel and stopped a moment by the mirror to check his appearance.

His shoulder-length black hair was brushed back, exposing two gold earringed ears. He had a well-worn black wool coat over his thin green sweater, and a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. Quickly he made sure that there was nothing in his teeth and centered the stones on his rings. Who knew why Tom had such a seemingly vain ritual – no one was ever looking at him, anyway – but he maintained it all the same.

Grease in hand, he went to mend the squeaky wheel. In a moment the job was done and Tom returned to his previous task of restacking the books. He had about three of these carts to empty of returned or misplaced books, and that wasn't counting the incorrectly stored books he found along the way.

Lillian, as always, was surprised to find Tom already so far into his work when she came in at ten o'clock. "Goodness, Tom, sometimes I wonder if you live here!" she exclaimed.

Tom as a matter of fact _did_ live in the library (that's what the little room was for; what else?), but he made sure no one else ever knew of it. So he merely kept his mouth closed and didn't answer to Lillian's comment. She was long used to his silent ways and chattered on, not pausing for the replies she knew she wouldn't get.

Tom had to give Lillian credit: she did know how to treat him. The cheerful librarian went over to the library's door and turned the "open" sign, and promptly came back to her desk to chat at Tom some more.

The door opened and Mr. Gold came in. Tom felt a peculiar surge of fury at the sight of the man, his fingers threatening to tear into the book he held, and quickly he turned and left. Tom didn't know why Mr. Gold's appearances always gave him such rage, but they did. It was like… betrayal. Yes, whenever Tom saw Mr. Gold, he always felt betrayed. And tricked.

It didn't make any sense. Tom had never spoken to Mr. Gold. So how could Mr. Gold have done anything to him?

.

Sif stood apprehensively in front of the tall wooden doors. This castle was not by any means the most impressive or intimidating structure she had ever seen, but it was what was inside it that worried her. Frightened her, if she decided to be honest with herself.

She wasn't entirely sure if she should do this. Hearts would be broken. And yet… if she didn't, lives would be lost, and one of them would likely be the brother of someone close to Sif's heart. Whether she should or not, Sif had to do this.

The doors swung open and the little imp known as Rumplestiltskin stood before her, grinning like a cat. "And how may I help you, dearie?" he asked.

Sif lifted her chin, glaring into Rumplestiltskin's eyes. "I have come to make a deal," she said, her voice steady.

A keening laugh burst from Rumplestiltskin, and he giddily gestured. "Come in, then, Lady Sif."

Sif's fingers shifted nervously, and she walked into Rumplestiltskin's castle.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's notes: I didn't mention this before, but Lillian the librarian is a nod to Library Lil by Suzanne Williams, one of my favorite books growing up. I would wish so hard for Lil to be my librarian._

_EVERYBODY STOP and before you start on this chapter, go to behindthename dot com and type in Hemming. Read the meaning carefully. Then get uncontrollably excited. Okay, NOW you can go._

_**Warnings:** some fantasy violence toward the end of the chapter_

* * *

"Ms. Williams," Mr. Gold greeted the librarian with a removed smile, "good morning." He noted Tom Hemming, the librarian's assistant, freeze in the background and immediately leave.

"Mr. Gold," Lillian nodded in her friendly but direct manner. "The rent isn't due for another two weeks."

"I'm not here for the rent, dear," Mr. Gold told her. "I came to ask…" He paused and gestured with his free hand in the direction Hemming had disappeared. "How is Mr. Hemming lately?"

"Tom?" Ms. Williams looked over to where Hemming had last been. "He's alright. Quiet, but then, Tom always is." She smiled wryly. "I've been his employer for thirteen years, so I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Not just his employer," Mr. Gold reminded her. "When Mr. Hemming first came here, you gave him a home."

"Oh, Tom is long out on his own," Ms. Williams said. "I think he stays here to keep me company more than anything else. Not a lot of people come to the library these days, especially since the invention of digital books and the like."

"Unfortunate for you," Mr. Gold remarked. His gaze flicked over to where Hemming had vanished, calculating something of hidden purpose.

"Was there anything you wanted, Mr. Gold?" Ms. Williams asked flatly. She seemed to have realized that Mr. Gold had dropped in for anything but social reasons and did not want him in the library any longer.

Mr. Gold half considered the threat of increasing her rent, but such an action wouldn't be necessary at this time. "Not just yet, Ms. Williams," he replied courteously. "I'll be sure to let you know if I do."

"I'm certain you will." Ms. Williams' eyes tracked Mr. Gold all the way out the door. Once he was gone she released a shaky sigh and went to find Tom. She found him in between a pair of bookcases, sliding in the final book from the cart beside him.

"Is that the last of them?" Lillian asked, nodding to the book still held by Tom's fingers. He looked over at her briefly and nodded, turning back to even out the row of books. "You're so efficient, Tom, sometimes I wonder what I'm even doing here."

"To talk to people," Tom replied shortly. As typical of himself, he didn't really make eye contact with her. It disappointed Lillian, but she had learned a long time ago that Tom didn't trust people and she shouldn't take it personally. Still, after all she had done to help Tom, he could at least smile at her once in a while.

"I suppose you're right about that, Tom," Lillian agreed. She looked at him for a moment. "But, you know, I'm not getting any younger. Sooner or later somebody's going to have to take my place here."

"I'm sure you'll find someone capable of the task," Tom said. Of course he didn't catch Lillian's hint. He pushed his book cart toward the opening between the two bookcases, but Lillian failed to move. She smiled at him gently. "You're so strange, Tom," she said. It wasn't a biting comment, merely an observation. "What would you do if you weren't here?"

Tom looked down at the handle of the book cart. "I don't know," he replied. His fingers drummed the bar.

_Why is he so afraid?_ Lillian wondered sadly. _What happened to him?_ She sighed, surrendering to the fact that, as always, talking to Tom was never going to get her anywhere, and she straightened up, stepping out of Tom's way.

"Well, no one has come in yet," she said, waving the book in her hand. "I'll just escape into another world for a while. You know where to find me if I'm needed."

Tom nodded. He pushed the book cart past Lillian and she disappeared off to her hidden nook of the library. Tom returned the cart to its place and walked through the library's aisles, searching for a book to read while listening for the ringing bell of a visitor to the library.

He came across Matthew sitting on the floor in the children's section, the same collection of stories he always read in his lap: _The Jungle Book_. Tom didn't remember the first time he'd seen him here in the library, but he'd seen him every day since.

Tom knew quite a bit about Matthew, but that was only because Matthew couldn't seem to stop telling him. The boy had a very unhappy life; strict and very anti-creature parents, and as if that wasn't bad enough, he had nearly every animal allergy in existence. His intense longings for a pet to play with would never be satisfied.

Today, Matthew didn't seem to even notice Tom, so deeply engrossed in the adventures of Baloo and Mowgli was he. Some strands of black hair fell in front of his eyes and he blew them away. "Lucky, lucky Mowgli," he said softly, a glum turn to his lips. "You don't know what you've got."

He sounded far too pessimistic for a nine-year-old. Tom made no comment, watching as Matthew read, and Matthew talked for a while, very calmly venting at Tom while Tom didn't say a word. Finally Matthew finished and closed his book. He stayed there for a moment, and quickly he rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

Tom started. Was Matthew crying?

"I'm fine," Matthew said in a low voice.

Oh. He was fine. Tom hesitated, then turned and walked away. Part of him wondered if he should turn back around and go to the boy, he was clearly distressed. Tom never listened to that part of himself anyway.

.

"Make yourself at home," Rumplestiltskin invited, gesturing grandly.

Sif remained standing, looking around the interior of the imp's castle warily. "I did not here to socialize, Rumplestiltskin," she said. The name felt wrong coming from her lips.

"Oh, but I'm such charming company!" Rumplestiltskin exclaimed. He released a disappointed sigh as Sif's serious expression and obligingly turned her way. "Alright, Lady Sif: what is your matter of business?"

Sif changed her stance slightly, uncomfortable with the task at hand. "I have come here about Loki."

Rumplestiltskin's face took on a very interested look. "Is that so?" This time he came over and personally pulled the chair out for Sif, waving to it again. "You really should sit down, dearie," he told her. "You're going to be here for… a while." His peculiar laugh abruptly rang out.

Sif reluctantly sank into the chair, feeling very much the fly trussed up in the spider's web. Rumplestiltskin sprang over to his stool by the spinning wheel and sat himself down. The wheel began turning and Rumplestiltskin glanced over at Sif.

"Now tell me, what is it about Loki you want done?"

"Loki is not the same as he once was," Sif started.

"Well, people do change, dearie," Rumplestiltskin pointed out with a skewed grin. Sif tried to correct him, but he quickly lifted a hand. "I know what sort of growth you're referring to, Lady Sif. Loki seemed normal enough when he left here this afternoon."

"It has been much longer than that," Sif replied. "Years, in fact, since Loki was last rational. He's mad now. Twice already he has nearly destroyed entire realms, Jotunheim and Midgard. He tried to murder his own father and brother, myself and my friends as well. Thousands of innocents hve died by his hand."

Jotunheim. Rumplestiltskin paused at mention of the name. So Loki knew now. Clearly he hadn't dealt with the knowledge well, which was quite the opposite of what Rumplestiltskin had been expecting. There must be more story to it than Sif was telling, and Rumplestiltskin decided he'd find out everything once she was gone.

"Sounds like something brought out his cruel streak," Rumplestiltskin remarked out loud, beginning to spin again.

"He's imprisoned now," Sif said, "but he's Loki. He'll escape again, and because of Asgard's mercy he'll kill more people who were a part of the wrongs done to him."

_Wrongs._ Interesting choice of words.

"So what is it you want?" Rumplestiltskin asked, turning away from his wheel.

"I want Loki rendered harmless," Sif told him. "Not dead, but incapable of hurting anyone."

"I can't take Loki's magic away, dearie," Rumplestiltskin replied. "He's got too much of it, and it's been imbedded in his bloodline for a very long time. But." He lifted a finger. "I can fulfill your request."

"Without killing him?" Sif demanded.

"Without killing him," Rumplestiltskin assured her. "But, remember Lady Sif, I never give things away for free." His discolored gaze measured Sif coldly.

Sif tilted her chin upward defiantly. But Rumplestiltskin had a way of knowing the desperate. "Name your price."

**.**

"That's the last of 'em," Emma announced.

"Finally!" Henry exclaimed. "Let's go to Granny's."

"Granny's?" Emma repeated. "That's a somewhat public place for Operation Cobra, Henry."

Henry shrugged. "I haven't had breakfast yet." He carefully put the book back into his pack and slung it around his shoulders. "Let's go!" He rushed out the door.

"You haven't had breakfast yet? Henry, it's nearly 11 o'clock!" Emma snatched up her coat and ran after her swiftly departing son. "Have you not been eating? Hey!"

"Come on!" Henry called. "Granny's serves waffles on Saturday!"

Well, Emma had no reason to disagree with waffles. She pulled on her gloves and jumped out into the cold with Henry. On their way to Granny's, Henry stopped and stared. "The library's open," he said in surprise.

"Yeah, this is where Tom works," Emma reminded him.

"Emma…" Henry sounded troubled. "This library has never been open. The only library we have in town is the one at the school. And we don't have a librarian at the school library." He turned and looked at her. "Don't you remember, Emma? All the windows were boarded up just yesterday."

"Maybe they were doing construction work," Emma suggested.

"No—"

"Come on, kid," Emma cut him off with a smile, "you want to get to those waffles, don't you?"

Henry reluctantly allowed Emma to push him along, and as they stepped they stepped into Granny's Ruby told them, "You're lucky, the last three waffles are coming off the griddle."

"Three?" Emma looked over at Henry. "I don't know if that'll be enough."

"By three waffles I mean twelve small waffles," Ruby explained. "Four of them make one giant, platter-sized waffle."

"Oh," said Emma, feeling a bit silly. "Great then, we'll take two of them."

"Coming right up," Ruby said, writing down the requests and taking them back to her grandma. She came back over a moment later and asked them if they wanted anything else. After that, of course, she stayed to chat for a moment.

"Did you notice the library was reopened?" Emma asked.

"I don't remember it ever being closed," Ruby replied. "Lillian comes in here every morning before opening the library up. 8am, regular as clockwork. Tom works there, too."

"I know, I met him this morning," Emma said dryly. "Nice guy."

Ruby laughed. "Yeah, Tom's not from around here. He walked into town when he was eighteen and never left."

Henry's face pinched in worry, and he shuddered apprehensively. He looked up when the café's bell dingled, and the bizarrely tall Tom walked in.

"Hey, Tom," Ruby greeted him as she walked past. "Saved a waffle for you." Tom nodded in thanks.

Henry openly stared at Tom. Tom didn't seem to care, perching on one of the stools at the counter and fiddling with the green-stoned ring on his right hand. "You didn't mention he looked so weird," Henry whispered to Emma. "He has _tattoos!_"

"Henry, lots of people have tattoos," Emma said.

"Do you have tattoos?" Henry asked interestedly.

"Henry," Emma said sharply. She looked over at the sound of a chuckle and saw that Tom had been watching them. The moment he locked gazes with Emma he turned to stone and immediately looked away.

Emma nodded. _That'll teach him._

Ruby came back with their orders, crisp and slathered in strawberries and whipped cream, heat still radiating from the freshly-cooked waffles. Henry was given his hot chocolate and Emma her coffee.

Ruby promised Tom his order would be ready soon (had he made one? Emma hadn't heard him), and again the only response Tom gave was a curt nod. Ruby returned to him shortly after with the final waffle and a tall glass of iced tea. Who drank iced tea in winter?

Tom thanked Ruby briefly and methodically cut his waffle into irregularly-shaped pieces. Emma didn't realize she'd been watching him until Henry had to call for her attention.

"Hello, Sheriff Swan," a cold voice interrupted them, and Emma turned in her seat to look at Regina, glaring down at Emma through her smile. "What are you doing here with my son?"

"Getting some breakfast," Emma replied honestly. "Henry hasn't eaten yet, and I figured you wouldn't want him going around town alone."

"Yeah," Henry said. Regina ignored him.

"Henry, go to the car," she ordered.

"But my breakfast—"

"Take it with you. Go."

Henry slumped in his seat, then unhappily stood up and picked up his plate. "I'll bring it back," he promised Ruby, who nodded understanding and quickly wrote a note to remind herself. Regina watched the exchange and noticed the man Ruby was standing next to.

"Who's that?" she demanded.

"Tom," Emma answered, finding curious relish in knowing someone that Regina didn't. "He works at the library. I'm surprised you don't know him, Madam Mayor."

Regina cast a suspicious glance at Tom, who hadn't looked over at her this whole time, and stalked out of the café. Emma sighed and ate the rest of her waffle alone.

**.**

"There's someone new in Storybrooke," Regina announced as she burst into Mr. Gold's shop. "Strangers don't come here, Mr. Gold, that's part of the curse." She glared at him pointedly.

Mr. Gold looked over at her mildly, not intimidated in the least by Regina's show of aggression. "Surely you know this man, Your Majesty," he said, a hint of his old mockery to his tone. "Eighteen-year-old Tom Hemming walked into town thirteen years ago and has stayed here ever since, working as a librarian's assistant."

"Everyone knows him," Regina said accusingly. "You did something to the curse."

"The curse is just as powerful as it has always been, Regina," Mr. Gold said coolly. "Mr. Hemming is simply a late addition to its influence."

"Who was he?" Regina demanded.

Mr. Gold smiled in a way that suggested he was going to be as enigmatic with this matter as only he knew how. "No one you should be worried about, Your Majesty," he assured Regina, who didn't feel assured at all. "As long as the curse holds out, he's a threat to no one."

"You can't expect me to be satisfied with an explanation like that," Regina snapped.

"No," Mr. Gold said, "but neither can you expect me to give you any more than I have."

"I will find out who he is," Regina vowed. "And when I do, I'll deal with him." Mr. Gold cast her half a glance, silently communicating that wouldn't be a very good idea. Regina barely restrained a snarl and stormed out of the shop. Mr. Gold continued on with whatever it was he did in his shop.

**.**

Loki glanced up at the setting sun, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. If darkness fell before he found the gateway that began his route back to Asgard, he'd lose his opportunity and the Nine Realms would fall prey to Thor's impulsive ways.

He had to surrender to the fact that he was lost when he stepped into a glade he well knew and saw a tower which he also well knew, and he had no idea how he had come anywhere near this place at all. A horseman rode up and swiftly dismounted, dusk-blue cloak whirling about him. Loki regarded him with surprise, and when the fellow turned and saw him he expressed a similar reaction.

"Balder?"

"Loki?" A smile appeared on Balder's face, and he stepped forward, arms starting to lift. Was he expecting a hug? No! Loki didn't have time for that, he had to get back to Asgard! Balder must have caught something in Loki's face, for he stopped and walked up to the foot of the tower.

"What are you doing here, Balder?" Loki asked.

Balder partially uncoiled the rope in his hands and swung the end attached to a grappling hook. "Well, you see, brother," he began to explain, "there's a young woman locked in this tower by the name of Rapunzel." He threw the hook up, but it fell short and he and Loki had to dodge aside. "I ran into her prince about a month ago—Eugene, charming fellow—and he's lost and blinded, wandering the desert." He picked up the grappling hook and began twirling it again. "If Rapunzel can only be freed to find him, their true love can restore this realm and heal Eugene's eyes."

"True love," Loki said skeptically.

"Yes," Balder answered, entirely missing the dubiousness of Loki's words. "It's the most powerful magic of all." He tossed the grappling hook up for the last time, and, thanks be to the strength of young gods, it sailed through the window and held firm. Balder smiled triumphantly and began to climb.

"You know this tower is guarded by a witch, don't you?" Loki asked.

"Of course," Balder grunted.

"She has preference for tearing out eyeballs."

"Yes, I've heard that."

"Then why would ever endanger yourself in such a way and climb up there?" Loki wondered.

Balder looked down at him. "It's true love," he said simply.

Loki shook his head in disgust and turned away. "Well, good luck."

"Thank you, brother!" Balder continued to climb. A few feet below the window, he reached for the hilt of his sword—for the witch, he wanted to be ready. As though summoned by his thought, the hideous thing herself appeared, sporting a terrifyingly long set of fingernails. She raked them across Balder's face, and how they _dug_, how they _burned_, but Balder couldn't scream, he had to fight!

Swinging his sword upward, he forced the witch to jump back into the tower and quickly climbed in through the window. The witch was ready for him and had already laid a trap, a net made of strong golden hair. He was yanked upward by his leg, and dangling upside-down he swiped at the witch with his blade, keeping her at bay. But if he tried to use the blade to cut himself free, the witch would be upon him. What to do?

Balder decided to chance it. Curling his entire body upward, he sliced his sword's blade through the center tie of hair that held him aloft. While he did this, the witch zipped in and tore her claws down his back, piercing through his cloak. Balder cried out and fell heavily to the floor.

The witch was upon him in an instant, pinning him to the floor with a staying spell and poising her sharpened nails in front of Balder's eyes. Vainly he tried to turn his head away, reach for his sword. The little room at the top of the tower was in ruins.

"Wait!" a desperate voice cried. A young girl with shorn head rushed into the fray, tears in her eyes. "Please, don't hurt the bird!"

Balder and the witch in puzzlement craned their necks to look up at the little songbird that had landed on the windowsill. Rapunzel went carefully over to it, making crooning noises. "There, there, little bird," she said soothingly. "No one is going to hurt you."

The bird whistled a few notes and hopped onto Rapunzel's finger, ruffling green feathers. Rapunzel smiled, but it dropped when she locked gazes with the witch, who had an expression of vilest murder upon her face. Rapunzel backed away in terror, cupping the songbird to her chest. "Please," she whimpered, "please don't hurt the bird."

The witch stared at the bird, standing up and kicking Balder to the side. He scrabbled for his sword, but it wasn't there. Looking up he saw it pinned to the ceiling. "Drat," he muttered, and looked for an alternative weapon. Fists were no good against a witch, he already knew that.

The witch glared at the partially hidden songbird suspiciously. "I know this bird," she started, and then there was a sound like a miniature thunderstorm and out of roiling green smoke the little songbird became the imperious Loki.

"Worm," he said disdainfully, and with a gesture green-white flame exploded from his palm and slammed into the witch, throwing her across the room with such force it snapped her neck. Balder looked over at Loki.

"Well, that was easy," he said, sounding surprised.

"She was old," Loki replied in dismissive tones.

"Thank you, brother," Balder said sincerely. "It means much."

"You're welcome," Loki answered. He turned to go.

"Loki," Balder asked, "is there anything happening at home?" An anxious look appeared on his face. "I haven't missed Thor's coronation, have I? Time is so strange here, and I would never forgive myself if I missed that."

"No, you haven't missed it," Loki told him. "Thor's coronation isn't for a while yet. Things are the same at home as they have always been." He climbed up into the windowsill. "Goodbye, Balder." He jumped out.

Balder staggered back as Rapunzel launched into him with an exceedingly thank hug. "You killed her," she said, her laugh sounding shocked. "You saved me!" She went stiff and backed away. "You saved me," she said again in a tiny voice. "You're a prince, and you saved me."

"Well, I had some help from my brother," Balder replied.

"No, please," Rapunzel said, "whoever you are, thank you, but I—"

Balder placed a hand over her mouth. "I know," he said kindly. "I met Eugene, he's the one who told me about you. That's why I'm here, to make sure you find him again."

"Oh! Oh, thank you!" Rapunzel sprang up and wrapped her arms around Balder's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Below, in the slowly fading light, Loki glanced up at the tower and shook his head. "True love," he muttered derisively, and continued on his way.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's notes: Aaah, so it's been way longer than I had intended it to be. D: Oh well. But here is more, for your pleasure._  
_ Also some explanations are finally given (aka I finally figured out how something works).  
_

**Warnings: **_none.__  
_

* * *

Tom finished his breakfast and left Granny's, leaving a tip for Ruby. He didn't like adults, and for a long time Ruby had been no different, but of late he had noticed something in her had changed. She was more confident, but less intrusive. So, as a sort of thank-you for improved manners, Tom left her a tip.

He stepped outside, sucking the chilled air through his nostrils and releasing it with a loud sigh. Another day. In Tom's life, they never seemed any different from each other. Library, breakfast, library, lunch, library, see Lillian off at the door, pretend to leave and sneak into the library again through the back, go to his room, and curl up on his bed with dinner and a book. Then repeat until the apocalypse comes. The only time it had ever been different was before he was eighteen, before he ran away to Storybrooke.

Tom shook his head. He was _not_ going to think about Before Storybrooke. Before Storybrooke did not exist, he had abandoned it long ago. Tom strode through the library door, calling out his name so that Lillian would know it was him and not a visitor.

Lillian came down anyway. "I remembered something after you went for breakfast," she explained. "Jim, from the school, told me that there have some requests for new bookcases at the elementary school's library. Some shenanigans have occurred there on occasion, and since the bookcases are metal, some of the children have been hurt."

"Children can't be prevented from play," Tom said.

"I know, and I would never wish it," Lillian replied. "It's why I wish more children would come around here; it's lonely without little ones." A sad look flitted across her face, and Tom thought he recognized it. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you to have a look at the school library, take some measurements, and see what you can do. You've been doing a marvelous job redesigning the bookcases here in the library—I love the finishes and woodwork—I thought you'd be just the man for the job."

"I'll get to it," Tom said, and immediately turned away. Lillian stopped him.

"Oh, no, you won't be able to do it today," she told him. "I have to get a key for you, and that won't be possible until Monday. I just wanted to let you know in advance."

Tom nodded understanding. "Since you've reminded me," he said, "I'll do some work on our bookcases today. I haven't gotten to the ones in the children's section yet."

"Right, you go and do that," Lillian said, politely giving Tom some berth. "Enjoy yourself," she called after him.

Enjoy himself? Tom was doing work, there was nothing to enjoy. Though, there was something sort of… satisfying, in the long hours spent shaping a piece of dead tree into something beautiful that would stand for generations, if only it was treated right.

Everything should be treated right. But rarely was it actually so. Tom went into his room and grabbed a handful of measuring tools and a notepad. On his way to the children's section, he paused by a window and looked out thoughtfully.

He had to be somewhere, he almost certain of it, but he couldn't quite remember what for.

**.**

Loki glanced up at the darkening sky apprehensively. He had less than an hour to make it back to the gateway and return to Asgard. This looked to be about the right place. Loki cast his hands out, murmuring a few runes in a low voice, and a shimmering green gateway appeared. Loki smiled in satisfaction and stepped through.

The other end brought him to a place far from eventide. Loki glanced around at the dripping flora, and frowned at the rackety volume of the jungle's occupants. Well, the last gate was only a short ways from here, and fortunately was much easier to find than the gateway in the Enchanted Forest.

"Back again, I see," a rich voice rumbled above Loki. The demigod looked up and took a moment to locate the shadow of a feline draped across a branch.

"Good day to you, panther," he said politely. He knew it would be unwise to behave rudely toward the jungle's occupants: after all, they had much more power here than Loki did, especially the panther to which he spoke.

"I fear that you are using our gateways for malevolent purposes," the panther said, yellow eyes cool. He elegantly dropped from branch to branch, until he was only twice Loki's height up the tree.

"I seek only to protect," Loki answered, mostly honest.

"Your history makes me question that," the panther returned, his words barbed. His tail slowly arced upward only to fall down and repeat the action, and he watched Loki for a long moment, while Loki looked back, hiding his apprehension. The panther dipped his head a last time in acknowledgment of the Asgardian, then with a powerful spring scaled the tree to greater heights and soon disappeared.

Loki continued onto the gate and disappeared within.

**.**

On his way to the children's section, Tom noticed a little girl shivering at the base of one of the bookcases. Strange, considering she was wearing a coat. Tom continued on. Reaching the children's section, he found Matthew situated in a new corner with a different book, one about panthers, tigers, and other jungle cats. The boy noticed Tom's ruler and interestedly came over.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Tom didn't answer, going about his task. Matthew would not be deterred and tugged on the hem of Tom's shirt. "Hey, what're you doing?"

"Measuring," Tom responded curtly.

"Why?" Matthew asked curiously.

Tom paused and glared down at him. Matthew was not discouraged and looked just as curiously back up. Tom sighed. "For bookcases."

"New ones?"

"Yes."

"Will they be like the ones in the adult section?" Matthew asked. "Or the nonfiction section? Because those are nice, but they're boring."

Tom glanced down at Matthew, feeling a mixture of insult and wonder. "How so?"

"They're… grown up," Matthew said. "Not cool."

Not cool. Tom had forgotten that in some ways, children were much more difficult to please than adults. But then, children rarely have reason to believe that you can't accomplish their desires. Tom marked down his measurements and then moved to a different part of the bookcase. Matthew followed him.

"You should make them interesting," he suggested. "Like panthers and wolves and stuff."

"Not everyone is as enthusiastic about animals as you are, Matthew," Tom pointed out. "What about the girls?"

"Flowers for the girls," Matthew said without hesitation. "Jungle flowers."

Tom kept moving to different parts of the children's section and Matthew kept following him, eagerly supplying ideas for the designs on the new bookcases. Tom was just about ready to wield his ruler as a weapon and chase the boy away. But also, strangely enough, he didn't really want to.

Tom finished with his measurements and left the children's section. As he was starting to expect, Matthew followed him. He stopped at one Tom's bookcases and touched several different points. "What are these?" he asked.

Tom stepped back over to Matthew and looked at what the young lad was indicating. "Runes," he told him.

"What are runes?"

"They're letters, but of a different sort."

"Where do they come from?"

"Scandinavia, mostly," Tom said. "Or maybe the gods."

"Heh." Matthew nodded in approval. "That's clever. My parents wouldn't like it."

"Your parents don't seem to like much of anything, from what I gather," Tom remarked.

"Sometimes I wonder if they're actually dead," Matthew confessed. "Why else would they be so heartless?"

"Indeed." Tom began to wonder where this understanding cropping up between him and Matthew was coming from. He quickly turned from the boy and went to put his tools away. Matthew didn't follow him this time, occupied with counting how many runes he could see.

"What do you do here all day?" Matthew asked when Tom returned.

No. No, no, no, that was too personal. "Work," Tom said vaguely.

"What sort of work?"

"Busy work."

The library's bell rang. _Saved by the bell!_ Tom thought with relief. He quickly strode over to see who had entered, and took half a step back when he realized it was Regina Mills. "Do you need to see Ms. Williams?" he asked shortly.

Regina gave him a charming smile. "No, actually, I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Hemming."

"Uh-oh," Matthew whispered before vanishing from sight.

**.**

"My price?" Rumplestiltskin echoed Sif's words. "Why, that's easy." He pointed at Sif. "Your hair."

Sif rose from her chair, looking at Rumplestiltskin warily. "My… hair?"

"Mm-hmm!" Rumplestiltskin nodded. He splayed his fingers apart and a pair of shearing scissors appeared in his hand.

"But," Sif hesitated, taking a step back. "If I return to Asgard without my hair, everyone will know that I came to you."

"That's for you to deal with, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said callously. "And I don't want _all_ of your hair, just that pretty tail of yours."

"Why?" Sif demanded. "What do you need it for?"

"I have my reasons, dearie," Rumplestiltskin replied with a soulless smile. "If you want Loki stripped of his ability to harm, you have to pay the price."

Sif's jaw clenched, and she slowly sat back down again. Rumplestiltskin clapped his hands with glee and pranced over, grapping Sif's hair and cutting it all off in one quick slice. Sif couldn't help her flinch, especially when the imp laughed, and curled her fingers into tense fists.

"Is it done?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Rumplestiltskin assured her, taking her confiscated hair and vanishing it to someplace unknown. "In a very short while, Loki won't be able to harm a living soul."

"Good," Sif nodded. She stood up stiffly and strode out of Rumplestiltskin's castle, forcing herself not to run. Once outside, she finally lifted her hands up to her head and felt her chopped tresses. What had once fallen far past her shoulders now didn't even reach her chin.

Everyone would see. Everyone would know. Unless Sif could somehow find a way to hide it, and she had to before returning to Asgard. It wasn't until she swung up onto her horse's saddle that she had an idea. With a sincere apology to the horse, she shaved its tail and gathered it together as an extension to the hair she had left, using a piece of the reins and some pitch to hold it in place. Not perfect, but it would do until she returned home and crafted something better.

She sent the horse away (Heimdall would be suspicious of its naked tail) and looked up to the sky. "Heimdall," she called. "I am ready." Nothing happened. Sif's brow furrowed, and she told herself that nothing was wrong, there was no need to panic. "Heimdall?"

"Oh, he can't help you that way."

Sif turned and jumped back as a panther rose from the grass, its pelt black as the night around them.

"You are far from your jungle, panther," Sif observed.

The panther released an amused purr. "Not so far as you may think," he said mysteriously. "You are the Lady Sif. I have seen you in these lands before. Yet you behave as though you have not come this way in the past."

"I have not ventured here alone previously," Sif explained.

"Ah, I see now," the panther said. "It was Loki who always brought you and your comrades back, wasn't it?"

Sif swallowed. "Yes. You know Loki?"

"Some." The panther slinked toward Sif and sat down in front of her, dipping its head in introduction. "I am Bagheera."

"Well met, Bagheera," Sif replied. "Can you help me? I need to find my way home again."

"This way, Asgardian," Bagheera replied, standing again and gesturing with his tail for her to follow. "Others like you cannot find the gateway in the dark, but I am a panther. I can."

He lead her further into the forest and then stopped, snarling out a terrific caterwaul. The sound of it seemed to shake the air, until some distance away it began to unveil a bright green gateway, shining in the darkness.

"Follow me, Lady Sif." Bagheera calmly stepped through, and Sif followed.

"Bagheera," Sif said, as they came into a much brighter jungle, "you know much more of this realm than I. Tell me, how is it that one can say they spoke to a man a few hours ago, when it truth it has been many years? Does time falter in this realm?"

"No, Asgardian, time works here just as it should," Bagheera assured her. "It is those who enter and exit from the outside who experience the distortion." Seeing Sif's puzzled expression, Bagheera sat down on the moss and invited Sif to do the same. Once she was comfortably situated, Bagheera began to explain.

"There is a barrier, or perhaps it is a shield, that surrounds our realm. It does not force us to stay and it does not make it impossible for you to go, but it does make it more difficult and, for reasons unknown, it alters time. While our realm is in pace with the rest, that barrier is not. When an outsider comes here, the barrier takes them and directs them to the time that would be most effective for their purposes—or the least. There is no middle ground."

"Interesting," Sif mused. "So either Loki was brought here ahead of his time, or I was brought back."

"That is the simplest explanation of it," Bagheera confirmed. "Do not fret, however. When you leave here you should return to your proper time. However, if a dweller of our realm were to leave, it would be the same effect for us going out as it is for you coming in."

"Why is it there?" Sif asked.

"That, even I do not know," Bagheera confessed. "Now come, Lady Sif, it is time you journeyed home." The panther rose to its paws again and Sif stood as well, following its path through the foliage until they reached another gate, this one golden, and Sif stepped through.

She blinked at the interior of Heimdall's observatory, watching as the Bifrost disengaged. Heimdall cast a cool glance over Sif's muddied appearance, and she suddenly realized that he may have been watching her the entire time.

Instead of the dooming words of condemnation, Heimdall merely remarked, "Your trip did not go as planned," and pulled his sword from the Bifrost key.

"You have no idea," Sif sighed. She walked past the Guardian, certain the hairs on the nape of her neck were standing on end, and he followed her to the observatory's door. Sif returned to her chambers and sank to the floor with a shaky breath.

She hoped that what she had done would be worth it. And she prayed that no one would ever find out it was her. By all intents and means, she had acted against a Prince of Asgard, and that was treason. Who knew what sort of punishment it could bring. But so long as Loki couldn't hurt anyone again, things would finally calm down. Perhaps they would even return to the way they had been.

A week later, Loki disappeared.

**.**

Henry ran into his room, shutting the door behind him and jumping onto his bed, pulling the book from his backpack. His fingers brushed over the embellished words _Once Upon A Time_ for a moment and then he opened it, scanning over the list of contents. He knew the book pretty well by this point, but still, he wasn't going to take any chances.

Starting at the first page, Henry began searching for who Tom Hemming really was.

**.**

"I am certain it's Ms. Williams you want," Tom said.

"Oh no, Mr. Hemming," Regina replied, her smile menacing. "It's definitely you. May we speak in private?"

"If that's what you want, then I shall have to retrieve Ms. Williams," Tom said stiffly. "One of us has to be down here at book level at all times."

"Of course," Regina agreed courteously.

Tom nervously went up the stairs into the clock tower, Regina following close behind. Lillian looked up when Tom knocked on the doorframe and smiled. "Need me downstairs?"

Tom nodded. "I just need to borrow your charming assistant for a moment," Regina explained.

"Charming?" Lillian chuckled. "Watch yourself, Tom, you're making an impression."

Tom gave her a puzzled look. Regina and Lillian both uttered amused sounds, and Lillian left. Tom looked over at Regina. "Do you wish to speak somewhere more quiet?' he asked, lifting his voice slightly above the steady ticking of the clock."

"No, here is just fine," Regina assured him, and closed the door. Tom's heart jumped in alarm, and he took a half step back, just as he had when he first saw Regina in the library.

"Mr. Hemming, there is some… mystery regarding your presence here in Storybrooke. I don't have a terrible fondness for mystery, particularly when the person is as notoriously unfriendly as you are."

Unfriendly was hardly an accurate description. Tom was just careful.

"What brought you here?" Regina demanded, finally reaching her point.

"My feet," Tom answered truthfully.

Regina chuckled, but her expression was entirely malicious. Tom's instincts were telling him to run, but Regina was blocking the door. "Don't give me that, Mr. Hemming," she said disdainfully. "Something made you come to Storybrooke, and you're going to tell me what."

She leaned in. Tom practically bent over backwards trying to get away. Then there was a loud thumping on the door. _Saved by the bell, now the knock!_ Tom reflected. He quickly navigated around Regina and opened the door. Outside was Matthew. He tossed Tom a wink before plastering a look of "oops, I did something" on his face.

"Um, Mr. Hemming? Something happened to one of the bookcases…"

Tom froze. "Define 'something.'"

"It sort of… broke… and there's books everywhere. Ms. Williams said to get you."

Tom sighed. "Yes, I'm coming." He looked over at Regina, who was well disguising her rage. "Another time, Mayor Mills."

"Yes," Regina agreed coldly. "Another time."

Tom happily fled the clock tower with Matthew. "Matthew, please tell me one of the bookcases is not actually broken," Tom requested.

"I had to make it legitimate," Matthew said apologetically. "Don't worry, though, it's just a boring adult bookcase, not one of yours."

"Thank you, Matthew."

"No problem, Mr. Hemming. Mayor Mills is one mean lady, I've seen the way she treats people. I'm still a kid, so she doesn't notice me so much." He glanced up the stairs. "I guess she will now." He looked over at Tom. "Do you want me to help with that bookcase?"

"No, I can manage," Tom said as they came around the corner. He took on a look of pain and grimaced. "On second thought…"

"I'll get the book cart," Matthew said.

"Yes, that's a good place to start." Matthew went off and Tom surveyed the damage with a bewildered look, placing his hands on his hips and he shook his head. Matthew was certainly thorough. Lillian came over, her expression just as dismayed as Tom's.

"I don't know what happened," she confessed.

"I doubt we ever will," Tom replied. "Matthew's bringing the book cart."

Regina passed by, and Tom noticed that she looked surprised there actually _was_ a broken bookcase. Good call, Matthew. The boy returned with the cart, hiding his snickers. Lillian and Regina briefly exchanged words, and then Regina left.

Matthew turned to Tom and lifted a hand. "Come on, Mr. Hemming, we've got to high five on this."

Tom gave a tense chuckle and obliged. Matthew grinned at him and cheerfully helped him pick up the books, asking Tom which ones he knew. Which was all of them, and that impressed Matthew quite a lot.

**.**

"Code Red, Code Red," Henry's voice crackled through Emma's walkie-talkie. She looked over at Mary Margaret, silently asking if it was okay for their conversation to be paused. Mary Margaret nodded consent.

"What's up, Henry?" Emma asked.

"Big news on Operation Cobra," Henry replied in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm coming over to your place."

"What about Regina?"

"My mom left right after dropping me at home. She's running errands for the rest of the day."

Again Emma glanced over at Mary Margaret, who for the second time nodded. "Sure, come on over."

Henry knocked on the door a few minutes later, and judging from the way he was panting, he had run the entire way. "He's not in the book," he exclaimed breathlessly, and gratefully took the glass of water Mary Margaret handed him.

"Who's not in the book?" Emma asked.

"The guy from the diner," Henry replied. "Tom. He's not anywhere in the book. I checked _twice._ There's no one who even looks like him." He shook his head with a worried expression. "This has never happened before."

"Well, maybe not everyone here is cursed," Mary Margaret suggested. "You and Emma aren't, right?"

"Yeah, but…" Henry shook his head. "Never mind, it's too complicated to explain. But this Tom guy has got to be a part of the curse, Emma," he persisted. "I just don't know why he's not mentioned."

"Well, not all old stories are fairy tales, you know," Mary Margaret pointed out.

"What else is there?" Henry asked.

"Myths, legends…" Emma shrugged.

Henry looked thoughtful. "Maybe that's it, the curse affects other things, too."

_Great,_ Emma thought. _Now things are going to be even stranger._ Henry quickly finished his water and pulled his ever-present backpack over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go to the library."

"Wait, what are we looking for?" Emma asked, finding herself grabbing her coat and following her son for the second time that day.

"I'm not sure," Henry replied, not discouraged in the least. "But let's find out!"

Emma and Mary Margaret exchanged looks. Mary Margaret shrugged, and she too grabbed her coat to follow after the impatiently waiting Henry.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author's notes:_** _apparently 'questor' isn't a word. Bah, I do what I want._

_Well, my lovelies, this is the last you'll be hearing from me for a while—NaNoWriMo begins tomorrow, and guess what I'll be doing? That's right, Green & Gold! The goal is to write 50,000 words. Here's hoping I make it! :) If I'm able to keep up with my goals, I'll try to post the odd update through November._

_Right. NaNoWriMo, ho! And what has Thor been up to all this time?_

**_Warnings:_**_ none. Well, spoilers-ish for the first episode of Once Upon A Time Season 2. Yeah, I'll have spoiler alert here as well._

* * *

Thor and his mother were walking through Asgard's broad halls, on their way to see Loki. Thus far neither of them had said anything, for Thor had something weighing heavily on his mind, and he was struggling to find the words to release it.

"Mother," he began, brow furrowed anxiously. "Do you suppose Loki will ever become again the brother and son we so greatly loved?"

"It is all his choice, Thor," Frigga answered, her gaze sad. "And your brother is very bitter indeed."

"I just wish… I just wish that Father had _told_ him," Thor burst out. "That he had told _both _of us. Things would have been different!"

"He was thinking only of yours and Loki's protection, Thor."

"Was he?" Thor challenged, a shade of his former defiance toward Odin reappearing. "Or was he protecting himself?"

Frigga didn't answer, taking on a distressed look. Thor immediately apologized. "I am sorry, Mother. There is much on my mind, and it is not my right to wield my stress against you."

"I'm your mother, Thor," Frigga responded, surprising Thor with her patience. "If I couldn't handle your little explosions of temper I would be a poor parent indeed."

"It is Father I should be speaking with, not you," Thor argued. "After all, it was his choice that has had repercussions thus far."

"Then speak with him," Frigga replied. She noticed Thor's hesitation. "Ah, you fear his response," she realized, nodding. "That I understand. As great as your temper is, Thor, your father's temper is even more so. But you should know that you have nothing to fear; Odin learned to bridle his anger long ago, and the concerns of his son he will readily listen to.

"But come," she continued, and nod to the two Einherjar positioned outside Loki's quarters. "We are here."

Mother and son were permitted into Loki's chambers. He had been sealed within immediately after he and Thor returned from Loki's attack on Midgard, bound by magic-stifling shackles forged in Svartalfheim. Thor and Frigga had to blink for a few moments after entering the room, for Loki had drawn the thick drapes as close together as they could come, making it nearly as gloomy as the night inside.

Thor looked to the corner where Loki could usually be seen brooding, but he wasn't there. Thor checked the other corners, growing increasingly frantic.

"Thor?" Frigga had instantly recognized that something was wrong.

Thor met her eyes with an expression of deep fear. "Loki's gone."

Frigga paled and spun around, shouting for the guards. "Einherjar! Issue a search throughout the Realms; Loki has escaped!"

The guards flew away and Ratatosk, the messenger of Asgard, ran in. "Allmother Frigga," he said, bowing (how he did not heave after running such distances was what Thor wanted to know). "The Lady Idunn seeks an audience with you immediately. It is regarding the Tree."

Frigga's expression was grave. "Loki," she growled, apparently certain that no one else could be responsible for the Lady Idunn seeking an audience regarding the Tree. Thor started to follow her, but decided he would be of better use with the search parties instead. Frigga thought it was just as well.

The room was now empty. Or so Loki allowed it to seem. He grinned as he allowed his mantle of invisibility to slip away, and smugly dropped his shackles onto the covers of his bed. An object shone gold before he tucked it within the folds of cloak, and then Loki was gone again, on his way.

**.**

Tom sighed as he sat down on the floor, propped up by a tilted-over bookcase. Matthew plopped down next to him, also releasing a gust of exhaustion. "Is that the last of them?" he asked hopefully.

"Last of the books in this row, yes," Tom confirmed. "However, I still have to fix this bookcase, and there are all the rest to take care of as well. Bookcases are something like dominoes, Matthew: you can never knock down just one."

"Sorry," Matthew shrugged.

Tom shrugged, twisting his lips. "I never have enough to do these days anyway."

"What happened here?"

Tom and Matthew looked over to see Sheriff Swan, Ms. Blanchard, and the mayor's son staring in surprise at the mess that was half the library.

"Um… bad things?" Matthew ventured.

"Something broke," Tom informed them.

Matthew started giggling. "Oh yeah, something broke."

Tom shook his head. "Do you know where the myths and legends books are?" young Mills asked.

"What are you looking for?" Tom inquired.

"Oh!" Matthew exclaimed. "You should read _Mixed Fables_. I love that book; it's clever."

"_Mixed Fables_ is a good collection," Tom agreed. "And a dark one, to be sure. Kitsis and Horowitz provide the most interesting reimaginings of classics. We used to have a books of their fairytales; _Once Upon A Time_, I believe it was called."

Mills gave a tremendous start. Ms. Blanchard and Sheriff Swan took notice as well. "Could you show where that book is?" young Mills asked excitedly. "Are there any others?"

"Only three that they've written as a duo," Tom replied. "They've each done a number of original tales separately. But those won't be the ones you're interested in." He started to get up. Ms. Blanchard offered her hand but Tom made a point of ignoring it. "This way," he said, and led them to the section the book was shelved. Of course, it was one of the fallen bookcases, so Tom was faced with the awkward task of crawling underneath and retrieving Mills' desired book.

He placed it into the boy's hands himself, and he instantly opened it up and scanned the list of contents. Tom noticed Lillian approaching and figured his job here was finally done, and headed back to the Bookcase Disaster Zone. Matthew stayed with the mayor's son, and Tom told himself he didn't mind.

"_The Trickster's Deal?_" he heard Mills read aloud.

"That's one of the best ones," Matthew told him. "Magic and lies and a fight; it's really cool."

Tom reached the broken bookcase and realized that Matthew was by his side. "What are you doing here?"

"Where else would I be?" Matthew replied. "Hey, Mr. Hemming, could you teach me how to make bookcases like you do?"

Tom hesitated. "I don't teach people."

"You mean you never have before," Matthew returned. "That doesn't mean you _can't._" He looked over the area, now cleared of books. "Where do we start?"

Matthew was presumptuous indeed if he thought he could convince Tom into something he was fully disinterested in doing. But he would deal with that argument later, right now it was more important to get this large area of the library in a functional state again.

"Neither of us have what it takes to move this bookcase," Tom said. "But we can take out the shelves and push the case upright."

"Awesome!" Matthew enthusiastically hopped forward and then paused. "Hey, I found another book."

Tom took it and read the simply printed title: _Quest_. Below the word was a representation of a young man swirled in blue with a drawn sword, and the terrible monster he faced. Unsurprisingly, the author was Kitsis.

Tom thought briefly of a young, naïve face, keenly listening whilst he read a story out loud, the both of them sitting outside on a balcony wrapped in green and blue blankets as their breath formed white clouds in the dark. He then recalled his brother sniffing as his nose chilled, and then spreading his fingers apart to form a little bauble of flame to warm his sibling, and both of them looking up as a fair-haired boy came bouncing in, dragging his red blanket behind him. Tom shook his head and dropped the book into the cart, wondering where he had read that story. He didn't have any brothers.

Matthew had nearly squashed himself under a shelf, the overeager fellow. Tom smiled slightly and transported himself to the boy's rescue.

**.**

"Nowhere," Thor cried as he burst into the room. "Every one of the Nine Realms searched, and Loki is nowhere to be found!" He sank down onto a step in despair. "It has now been twelve days, my friends, and not a sign of my brother has been detected. Loki has vanished."

"With a stolen item, what's more," Fandral added worriedly.

"What are we going to do?" Volstagg asked.

"Even Heimdall's farseeing eyes cannot find a trace of my brother," Thor said despondently.

"The best thing for us to do is to find one who is adept at seeking things out," Hogun said. "And returning them to where and whom they belong."

Sif nodded in agreement, her fingers tugging slightly at her long tail. She seemed even tenser than everyone else in the room. "An excellent proposition, Hogun," she concurred. "But there are huntsmen and seekers in the thousands, and Loki has bested each that we have ever encountered."

"Then it is not a huntsman or seeker we need," Thor responded. "We need…" He paused, thinking, and then the light of revelation came to his face. "A questor. My brother Balder, of course! No one is more skilled at finding and restoring than he."

Fandral leaned over to Volstagg's ear. "Which one is Balder, again?" he whispered.

"Thor's youngest brother," Volstagg whispered back.

"Oh, you mean the one that looks so much like him?"

"That's the one."

"I always forget him."

"I know." Volstagg almost sounded derisive.

"Balder is indeed ideal for such a task," Sif agreed. "But the question remains: where _is_ Balder?"

"I…" Thor wilted. "Don't know."

"Perhaps Heimdall can find him," Fandral suggested.

"Yes, let us speak with him immediately," Thor said urgently. They all jumped to their feet and then started in surprise when they realized Ratatosk was in the room.

"You must find the finder," he told them. "Heimdall does not see Prince Balder, only the shadow of where he had last been. You will need to prepare for a long journey; he is somewhere within the Enchanted Forest, none too distant from the castle of a certain imp." He dipped in a short bow. "This is the message of Heimdall."

Thor thanked him and Fandral shook his head. "I will always wonder how you do that, Ratatosk," he said.

Ratatosk smiled. "And I will ever keep it to myself," he replied. "I shall inform Heimdall you are coming." He left the room, gone almost before any of them had the chance to blink.

The warriors separately collected what they required and went immediately to the stables. "Whatever did happen to your horse, Sif?" Thor asked as they saddled their steeds.

Sif hesitated as she checked her horse's bridle. "I don't know," she replied. "He wandered off and never returned."

"Very strange of him," Volstagg remarked, mounting his horse.

"Do we not have a purpose that must be swiftly met?" Sif said sharply. They rode out of the stables without further comment. Heimdall was waiting for them as they approached the observatory, and each of the warriors dismounted and led their horses into the observatory as Heimdall led the way.

"Finding Balder will not be easy," the Guardian warned them. "Much of the Enchanted Forest has fallen from my view; and what little I can see is dark."

Everyone exchanged worried glances. "That does not bode well for us," Thor said. "We must depart at once."

The Guardian's sword slid into the key, and the Bifrost opened. Holding their horses by the reins, Thor and his comrades strode one by one within range of the bridge and were shot to their destination. A frown came to Heimdall's face as all five of them disappeared from his vision.

**.**

Balder smiled at the reunited Eugene and Rapunzel. Beholding their happiness was the young Asgardian's true reward, and no better one could he ever ask. Fondly he said his farewells to the couple, wishing them the greatest of joys in their newly rejuvenated kingdom. He swung up onto his horse's back, and the grey stamped the earth, as eager for the next quest as Balder was.

"Patience, friend, we must find a new quest first," Balder soothed him with a chuckle. He kindly refused Eugene and Rapunzel's offers of a great feast in his honor, saying, "I am but a traveler, your Majesties."

"But please, we don't even know your name," Rapunzel said.

Balder smiled back. "My name isn't important," he told her. "Farewell." He turned his horse away and eager stallion devoured the distance beneath his hooves.

"His cloak, such a dark, faded blue…" Rapunzel mused. She looked up at Eugene. "We should call him Dusk."

"Then Dusk he shall be," Eugene replied. "Let's hope he comes this way again." Fingers interlacing, the joined lovers walked back into their castle.

Balder was soon back in the forest, cheerfully whistling in imitation of the birds around him. He didn't notice the gleaming yellow eyes watching him from the shadows. It was only when his horse started to fearfully change step that he looked around, hand falling to the hilt resting against his side. He saw the eyes and immediately started to draw the sword from its sheath, but with a terrific yowl a body launched from the darkness and tackled Balder off his horse. The shocked animal bolted.

"Do not move, son of Odin!" the creature atop Balder snarled.

Balder froze. "How is it that you know my name, panther?" he demanded.

"I have seen your brothers Thor and Loki in times past," the panther replied. "Thor is a good man, but Loki dances with shadows."

"Says the night-black panther," Balder grunted. "Kill me, great cat, if that is what you have come here to do."

"Quite the opposite," the panther replied. "I have come to warn you. Foul things are stirring, young Asgardian, things that will devour this realm. There are few ways that any will be protected."

"Foul things," Balder murmured. "A curse?"

"Unlike any of which you have heard." The panther released Balder from its clawed grasp and gestured with its tail. "Now follow me."

The panther prowled away. Balder retrieved his sword and his horse and followed after.

**.**

Henry's nose was already deep in his newly-borrowed book as Emma drove them back to Mary Margaret's place. Emma had to call his name twice before getting his attention. "Henry, do you know when Regina's going to be back?" she asked. "If she sees me with you, we're both in deep trouble."

"I don't know how long she's going to be gone," Henry answered. "But if the look on her face was anything to go by, she'll be out all day." He looked back down at the book in his lap. "I can't believe there was a whole other book I didn't know about," he marveled. "These are totally new stories. They even have the same kind of pictures. But I haven't found that Tom guy yet."

"I'm sure you will eventually," Mary Margaret said helpfully.

Emma's phone rang. She answered. "Pull over and let my son out of the car immediately," Regina said flatly. Emma checked the street and saw Regina standing by the corner at Mr. Gold's pawnshop, glaring fiercely.

Frowning, Emma pulled over and told Henry he had to get out of the car. He desperately stuffed _Mixed Fables_ into his pack and got out of the car. Regina pulled him in protectively and flashed her hostile smile at Emma. "This is the second time I've seen you with my son today, Sheriff Swan, are you so quickly forgetting the rules?"

"He wanted to go the library," Emma answered.

"Yeah, for homework," Henry supplied. "Emma was giving me a ride."

"We were just about to drop Henry back off at home," Mary Margaret added helpfully.

Regina glared at them suspiciously. "Can we go home now?" Henry asked. "I want to get my schoolwork done."

"On a Saturday?" Regina questioned.

"I want to get it finished early," Henry persisted.

Regina gave Emma and Mary Margaret a tense nod. "Of course, Henry." They left, climbing into Regina's car and driving home. Once there, Henry fled up to his bedroom. Regina didn't follow him this time and left the house, locking the front door.

Immediately she headed to her office. After arriving, she sifted through all her files and, as expected, she now had a folder on Mr. Tom H. Hemming. Mr. Gold had certainly been thorough. There wasn't much there, just that he was the librarian's assistant and that he had been in Storybrooke for thirteen years.

It wasn't enough. Mr. Hemming came from out of town, and though the chances were slim, Regina might be able to find something from outside sources. She turned on her computer screen and began to search.

**.**

"My, my, you've certainly been a busy man today, Rumplestiltskin," Regina remarked as she came in. "A sorcerer and a lady warrior within hours of each other, I hear."

"Desperation seems to be on an increase lately," Rumplestiltskin replied. "What do you want, Regina?"

"I've been looking for a certain enchanted item," Regina started.

"And let me guess, it is currently in the hands of a rival witch," Rumplestiltskin interrupted.

Regina made an exasperated face. "Well, it would be, if that fool of a king she gave it to hadn't given it away to some traveling hero."

"So you wish to know where it is," Rumplestiltskin said.

"No, actually, I want to know who has it," Regina corrected him. "_Where_ I can take care of on my own."

"I see." Rumplestiltskin paused as he thought of a price. "What's the name of this item?"

"You don't need the name," Regina purred. "You'll easily manage without—"

Oh, it was so amusing when people tried to be difficult. "Sorry, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said, cutting off what Regina obviously thought was a persuasive speech. "More important business calls. Don't fret—I'll be back."

Regina frowned. "When?"

"Eventually." Rumplestiltskin grinned at her playfully.

"Wait!" But Regina made the mistake of blinking; and Rumplestiltskin was gone. She sighed irritably and shook her head, thinking to herself how annoying it was when Rumplestiltskin did that. "Fine, I'll just find someone else to do it," she muttered to herself, turning around and stalking out of the castle.

**.**

Thor, the Warriors Three, and Sif looked around warily at their surroundings. "It looks… much the same," Thor realized.

"Why would this be kept from Heimdall's vision?" Volstagg wondered.

"There is hostile magic in the air," Hogun said tensely. The five stayed close to their horses, knowing the animals keyed into unseen things more efficiently than they did.

Volstagg looked around cautiously, his ax at the ready. "I do not see anything," he said at last.

"Nor I," Fandral concurred.

"But you can _feel_ it," Sif said. The grim silence spoke everyone's agreement.

"Balder?" Thor called, gaze sweeping over the moon-lit territory. "Are you here, brother?"

Fandral stopped and put a hand on Volstagg's shoulder. "Look," he managed to eep. Everyone turned and froze. Gigantic, smoky black and purple, a terrific monster loomed behind a small village house.

"Nobody move," Volstagg whispered. "Perhaps it won't take notice of us." The monster's head whipped around and glared down at them.

"Of course," Thor sighed.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's notes:** guys, thank you so much for your feedback! You all rock, I love ya. *hug* Seeing the large amount of enthusiasm about Matthew is great (I'm always a little afraid for those new characters I put out there, tbh), and it was awesome how many of you decided to go in depth with some of your suggestions. What I saw a lot of is, "I like Matthew, but could we have this also?" So I've decided to work on Matthew's story more gradually and develop him over time.**  
**_

_Like I said before, you guys rock! :D  
_

_And now that we're five chapters in, I finally figured out where in the OUaT timeline Green & Gold is situated: it starts during 1x14 Dreamy and continues on through to I-can't-tell-you-where-because-shh!-spoilers. However, since Fairytale Flashbacks in Season 2 relate stuff that happens canonically earlier than that, there will be major references.  
_

_**Warnings:** some violence and a brief nightmare sequence.  
_

* * *

The monster screamed and ploughed through the house. The Asgardians all attacked, but their enchanted weapons served only to irritate the massive creature. It screamed again, and Thor, standing in its path, froze and began turning into stone.

"No!" Sif screamed. She turned on the monster vengefully.

A crackle and whistle overhead made the remaining warriors look up, and three flaming spears soared overhead and embedded in the monster, which lurched backward and released a pained howl. Still howling, it continued to retreat and writhe.

"Quickly!" a man appearing to be both an outdoorsman and a peasant ran towards them and gestured frantically. "We've only a few minutes while Stonebreath heals!"

"What of our friend?" Sif asked, moving toward the statuized Thor.

"Don't fret for him," the stranger replied, promptly going to Thor and lifting him on his shoulder. "We can help. Hurry! Mount your horses, and follow after those two riders." He indicated a pair of riders standing at the forest's edge with flame-tipped arrows.

The Warriors Three and Sif mounted and joined the two riders, who led them into the woods. Volstagg stopped and went back to stare disbelievingly at the stranger, who was walking along at a brisk pace despite the tremendous weight he carried. "Balder?"

Balder's face was grim. "You should not have come."

**.**

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you again."

Rumplestiltskin looked up from his writing desk and smiled in greeting at the casually leaning Loki. "Of course you did, dearie," he replied. "We have unfinished business."

Loki cast a lightly assessing glance over Rumplestiltskin. "You're looking well."

Rumplestiltskin preened mockingly. "Why, thank you," he replied. He pointed at the Trickster with his quill, shaking it lightly in reprimand. "Now, don't get sidetracked, Loki. Remember, you still owe me."

"Do I?" Loki replied, chuckling as something cruel glinted in his eyes. He swayed slightly, but corrected himself. Rumplestiltskin didn't fail to notice the waver, yet he chose to say nothing of it. "Tell me, Rumplestiltskin, why should I pay you when you haven't upheld your side of the bargain?"

Rumplestiltskin didn't answer, for he already knew it was a rhetorical question and that a continuation was on its way. Loki couldn't stand to _not_ say something.

"I worded very specifically the terms of our deal, imp—I know how you work, how you find such pleasure in twisting the meaning of someone's desires," Loki said calmly, a snarl lingering beneath his words. That strange light in his eyes was growing and though Rumplestiltskin hadn't looked up from the book on his desk, he knew that Loki had just advanced. "You didn't live up to your part of the deal, Rumplestiltskin, nor up to my expectations. Such a disappointment. There, what reason do I possess to pay you at all?"

"_You_ dropped the ball, Loki," Rumplestiltskin answered softly, his glance threatening. The quill scratched a few more times against the parchment. "I gave you everything you needed; perhaps even more. I am not responsible for your own failures."

Loki snarled. Literally pulled his lips back and growled at Rumplestiltskin. He had indeed changed. Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure if he liked it. Loki's eyes narrowed further and he stepped forward, a hand reaching out as though to test something.

"You didn't call me here for payment, Rumplestiltskin," he realized, recoiling as his face twisted in fury. "What is this treachery?!"

The pieces of Rumplestiltskin's trap fell into place, and he grinned wider than the Cheshire.

**.**

Tom nodded thanks to the burly worker who had come to aid in removing the broken bookcase, but given that the worker was looking the other way, he would never know of Tom's gratitude. That was life. Tom certainly wasn't going to thank him twice.

The broken case was taken out and Tom turned to the wearying task of refilling the shelves of about a dozen knocked-over bookcases. Matthew was no longer present to assist, as his parents seemed to have a strict curfew that Matthew did not possess the audacity to miss.

He went by one of the rows and saw a young girl, perhaps ten or eleven, shivering amongst a heap of books as she tried to read the one in her trembling hands. Tom considered going on, but the girl did look so very cold. And he needed to clean up the books in here, anyway.

Tom went over to the child, who, although violently shivering, was persistently making her way through _A Christmas Carol._ Was it really almost the season for that? Tom supposed it was.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

The girl jerked her head up and down. "Mm-hmm," she said, and shook so much that the book nearly fell from her fingers.

Tom sighed and stopped her from picking it up again. "No, you're not," he said, and inside wondered why he wanted to help. He wrapped his fingers around her quivering wrist, and even he could tell that the chill it contained was unnatural. "You're freezing."

"I want to read my book," the girl said stubbornly. She had heart. Tom admired that.

"And you shall," Tom promised. "But not in this chilly little place." Without further explanation, he scooped up the girl and _A Christmas Carol_ and went to a separate part of the library. In a little nook located in the adults' section was a cushioned reading enclave, and Tom knew he could grab some blankets from his room for the girl to use while she was here. In addition to that, high up on the walls were candle-holders.

"I'll have to get a lighter," Tom said, but the girl immediately pulled a box of matches from her pocket and offered it to him. He regarded it with surprise. "You carry matches?"

The girl shrugged. "Grandma used to say you never know when a good match might come in handy," she explained.

"I see." Tom took the matchbox and withdrew one match. "Now," he said as he struck it, "you can stay here in this warm little nook and read, but you must promise to be responsible and not touch the candles. If you want them lit, you come ask me to do it for you."

"But I can light a candle," the girl protested. "I'm eleven."

"Respect the rules of the establishment, please," Tom said firmly. "Otherwise you can't be here, and Lillian would hate to have anyone shooed out." He turned away. "I'll get you a blanket." He strode away purposefully.

"I'm Madge," the girl called after him. "Madge Lykke."

Tom stopped and turned back towards her for a moment. "Mr. Hemming," he responded briskly, and continued on his way to the blanket. He came back and efficiently tucked it around her, making certain she would be as warm and comfortable as possible. No point in helping someone if you weren't going to do a good job.

"Why is it so cold in here anyway?" Madge asked.

"Our budget's too small to keep the heat running," Tom told her. "Lillian tells me it's miserable."

"You say that like you don't know what it's like to be cold."

"It doesn't bother me."

"I'm like that, too," Madge nodded. "The cold's really not so bad, once you get used to it. Of course, most people don't believe me when I say that."

The girl was indeed stronger than she looked. Tom returned her matchbox and she tucked it carefully away, snuggling further into Tom's blanket and searching for her place in _A Christmas Carol._ Tom left and went back to where he had first encountered Madge and started picking up the books. Not even lunchtime, and it was already shaping up to be the busiest day he'd had since he first signed on as assistant librarian.

**.**

Matthew slammed the door behind him. "I'm home!" he shouted, immediately receiving a disapproving glare from his father. He shrank and lowered his volume. "I'm home." Awkwardly he took off his coat and stood on tip-toe trying to get it on the rack until his father heaved an exasperated sigh and came over to do it himself.

"You're nearly late," his mother scolded Matthew in harsh tones as he came into the kitchen.

"Well, that's not really late, is it?" Matthew replied, offering a hesitant smile. His mother frowned.

"It may as well be, for all you care." She took the pot of supper off the stove—probably some new concoction of vileness; his mother couldn't seem to cook to save her life. Why couldn't they have some spicy Indian food in their house? They were Indian, weren't they?

Well, he knew if he complained he'd just go to bed with no meal, and even worse, not get to go celebrate Miner's Day with the rest of the town. So Matthew bucked up and rolled his sleeves to the elbow, imitating his father, but his father still cast a critical eye over and delivered an equally critical comment.

_It's just the way he is,_ Matthew tried to convince himself. _He's not actually trying to be mean. Really._ He got into his seat and sat stiffly erect, praying that this ordeal of a meal would be over soon, and he could run off to join the Miner's Day celebrations.

**.**

Balder blinked at the jungle he found himself in. The panther, who had not yet named himself, led him calmly through until he stopped at a tree that appeared no different from the rest. "Climb up," he ordered Balder, who did not and instead looked at the panther curiously.

"I must go elsewhere, and you will not be welcome," the panther explained to him shortly. "And those who are not welcome do not live."

"There is something in addition to that," Balder responded, looking at the panther suspiciously. "Something you are not telling me."

"Something that you must not know," the panther replied. "Now climb up; unless you want Shere Kahn and his wolves to find you."

"Wolves?"

"He has turned them to his ways. Now climb!" The panther's voice was sharp. Balder obeyed, and then paused.

"What of my horse? I cannot leave him below to die."

"Shere Kahn's craving is for Man," the panther assured him. "The horse would only be chased a short while before abandoned. And it is a wise beast; it will return when it is safe again."

"He is the most faithful of steeds," Balder confirmed, looking down at his stallion with pride.

"Then for him you needn't worry."

Satisfied, Balder climbed a fair distance into the tree and straddled a stout branch, resting his drawn sword across his knees. He looked down at the panther. "I trust that you will return soon?"

The panther swished his tail. "I shall," he replied, and soon disappeared. Balder leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, listening keenly. His horse fled soon after and Balder's eyes flipped open as a tiger's snarling voice called from below.

**.**

Regina scowled angrily at her computer screen and slammed her fist down on the desk in frustration. Tom Hemming, as she had somehow known he would, was proving far too evasive. And she had learned that confronting him wouldn't work, he'd been about as desperate as a hunted animal to get away from her last time. He didn't seem to care about anyone, and as a result Regina didn't know how to work against him.

There had to be a way, somewhere. Vexed, Regina dialed a number into her phone and called in Sidney Glass. She handed him a photograph of Hemming and sharply ordered, "Get me everything you can find on this man."

"Everything?" Sydney's eyebrows lifted. He seemed surprised by Regina's vehemence, directed at someone he no doubt thought had been living in the town for thirteen years.

"_Everything,_" Regina snarled emphatically. "I want to know every single thought that's gone through that man's head since the day he was born, Sidney, do you understand?"

Sydney nodded to show that he did and swiftly exited. Regina sat down on her couch and apprehensively turned an apple in her hands, unintentionally flinching when the stem snapped in her fingers.

**.**

Despite the unhappiness of Thor's transformation into stone, Volstagg was delighted that they had found Balder. Or rather, that Balder had found them. He was about to exclaim to his friends the news, but Balder swiftly hushed him and said he wished to tell them of his identity in the morning, pleading for Volstagg's silence.

Volstagg saw no wrong in that, and agreed. Soon they were at the fringe of the wood. Still carrying Thor upon his shoulder, Balder mounted his horse and the noble beast did not quaver. Volstagg recognized the grey as being of Asgardian breeding.

"Where have the others gone?" Volstagg asked, realizing they were still separated from the rest of the group.

"Don't fret yourself, Volstagg," Balder replied. "I know the way." So saying, he led Volstagg through the forest, cautioning him to be silent, for there were ogres about. Volstagg had encountered a number of ogres in his lifetime, and recalled intensely loathing the precision required to kill one.

Soon they arrived in what seemed to be a small village, but with only a fire or two and many sleeping, Volstagg couldn't be sure. One of the two riders who had been with Balder came over and took Volstagg to the other Warriors and Sif while Balder disappeared off somewhere. When he joined him, the statue that was Thor was not with him.

"You said you could help our friend," Fandral said, a note of betrayal to his voice.

"Not yet," Balder replied quickly. "For what must be done, I require the light of day. Rest easy, friends: no harm will come to him or you. Sleep. In this place you will want your wits about you."

On that cryptic note, he left the hut. Volstagg and his comrades exchanged worried glances, and again Volstagg noted that Sif was the tensest of all.

**.**

Bagheera stood at the very edge of the jungle and called, his voice ringing out into the huts of a village of Men. "Man-cub! Mowgli!" He hoped there would be no reply.

But there was. Out of one of the huts a lanky boy eagerly ran out, rushing without fear into the shadows of the jungle. Bagheera snarled at him angrily, ears lacing back. "Mowgli, I told you to leave."

Young Mowgli looked at him in confusion, pulling some of his black hair out of the way. "But you just called—"

"_I told you to leave,_" Bagheera growled emphatically, and Mowgli took a few steps back, fear that seemed so unnatural in his eyes. Bagheera forced himself to relax and smooth out his fur. He sat down. "It will not be safe here soon, Man-cub," he explained.

"But Shere Kahn cannot come here," Mowgli replied. He grinned. "Since I burned him, he hasn't dared to come near me nor my village."

"I do not speak of Shere Kahn, Mowgli," Bagheera replied. "I speak of a danger much greater and crueler."

Mowgli took on a look of surprise. "There are things worse than Shere Kahn?" he said disbelievingly.

"Much worse," Bagheera replied grimly. "Now you and those of your village must go, flee beyond where this curse can reach."

"But I am not even ten years of age," Mowgli answered. "I cannot make the village move."

"If they do not come with you, then you go alone," Bagheera cut him off. "There is a haven, a very small haven, where you will be safe. But that place will not last for long, and if you delay you shall not get there."

"Is it far?"

"Very far, Man-cub."

Mowgli looked fretful. "I can't leave my fellow Men," he replied hesitantly.

"If they do not come with you, you must go alone," Bagheera repeated. "Or no one shall survive. Promise me you'll go, Mowgli." When Mowgli hesitated, the panther leaned in with more urgent tones. "_Promise me._"

"I… promise," Mowgli said reluctantly, biting his lip in worry. "Will you come with us, Bagheera?"

"Not with you," Bagheera replied. "But I will meet you there. Come to our meeting place, and I will guide you from there. If I am not there, there will be a map." He rose to his paws. "I must go, Mowgli. Make haste in your departure—now that the imp has been captured, it will not be long until the Curse is thrust into motion."

"What imp?" Mowgli asked curiously.

"_Go,_ Mowgli."

The boy nodded and ran back to the village, where some of the other Men were waiting to hear what it was he needed to tell them. Confident that his boy would be safe, Bagheera left the edge of the village clearing and bounded to his next destination; the tree in which he had left Balder Odinson.

**.**

Lillian was closing the library down for the day; earlier since it was Miner's Day and she wanted to enjoy the festivities with everyone else. Tom had never considered himself part of Storybrooke enough to celebrate in their special holiday. He watched as Lillian locked the doors—he could do it himself just as well, since he also had keys, but he knew Lillian enjoyed the task—and reminded himself to double check that Madge had gone home.

After seeing Lillian off and sneaking back into the library, he did just that. His blanket was folded neatly and set on top of the cushion. Madge certainly knew how to leave a place. She had remembered to extinguish the candles, too; properly, too, not just by blowing on them. This meant Tom wouldn't have to clean wax off the inside of the candleholders.

Tom spent the evening reshelving books, which took much more time than he had expected. He felt exhausted as he fell into bed that night, and didn't even bother to eat his dinner or pick up the book he was reading about Scandinavia. He just crawled underneath his blankets and stared into the dark, curled on his side. Then his eyes closed, and he dreamed.

_._

_"Why are you doing this?"_

_"To prove to Father that I am a worthy son!"_

Everything's splintered into shades of blood and frost, fragmenting, spinning, red and yellow, green and gold, ice and lightning. Tears on faces, screamed words, screamed threats, vicious tricks.

He's hanging, clinging desperately to that thread of hope and then it snaps and he falls, faster than light, faster than the future king's cries. Home is shrinking, he's falling so fast into the nothing, swallowed up by the vastness of stars and the coldness of space and he can't stop, can't stop, he's falling forever.

_"Help me! I'm sorry!"_

.

"I'm sorry!" Tom screamed as he lurched awake. It had only been a few hours. He sat trembling in his bed, tank drenched with sweat, and it was a while before he could really breathe again. He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, allowing the cool of the air to soothe him.

Would these nightmares ever end? Tom had been having them for nearly two weeks now, and he didn't understand them, and he always awoke in some state of terror. Nothing was clear in these dreams, blurs and segments that meant nothing and yet seared through his heart. There were a few words that would haunt his mind, but he couldn't fathom their meaning.

It must have been some book he read. Tom had read so many, after all, maybe he had forgotten one. Yes, that made sense. And sense was good. Glancing at the clock that read 1am, Tom put his legs back underneath the covers and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, burrowing under until the old gray edge could cover his cold ear.

Shivering apprehensively, Tom gazed into the black for a long time before falling into a fitful sleep that bore no dreams, but feelings of overwhelming fear.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's notes:_**_ Thank you all for your patience through November, YOU ROCK!  
_

_Basically, in which it is Sunday and I assume that in every town, including the beyond wacky town of Storybrooke, there is at least one church. Which for some reason is always Catholic. I've always been sort of baffled by that. So, if you're the sort of person for whom anything "religious" is a touchy subject, please cool your jets. I'm not out to offend anyone._

_Oh, and if any of you are interested, sketches/actual artwork for Green & Gold can be found on my Tumblr account, ladyoftheflyingpie, along with general (non-spoilery) updates on the writing/editing of things. Just type "green and gold" in the search bar and it'll take you right there. I'm something of a tagging maniac, so keeping track of things is not difficult. ;)  
_

_**Warnings:** spoilers for 1x15 Red-handed and 2x03 Lady of the Lake  
_

* * *

"I really, really hate her," Emma stated.

"I know," Mary Margaret replied.

"Like _really_, really hate her," Emma emphasized, waving the mostly-empty glass in her hand for added effect.

"Yes, Emma, I heard you the first time," Mary Margaret said patiently. "And the second, and the fourth, and the twenty-seventh. And believe me, I agree."

"Who does she think she is, though?" Emma wondered angrily. "Why _does_ the thought of me being with Henry, or Henry being with me, make her so angry? Why should it?"

"I don't know, Emma," Mary Margaret replied. "Regina is a strange person—a strange, angry, and terrifying person. Sometimes I wonder how she became that way."

"She's a psycho, that's how," Emma muttered bitterly. She scowled and set her glass aside, having found no consolation in there. What could alcohol ever do to bring Emma's son back?

Mary Margaret fiddled with her own glass and gave Emma a fretful looked. "Emma, what did you talk to David about earlier? I saw you taking him away in your sheriff's car…"

"It was just a few questions, Mary Margaret," Emma replied, speaking calmly. "David's the closest person to Kathryn in this town, and so he's the first person to talk to until we find her."

"And your first suspect," Mary Margaret added, frowning.

"I'm just doing my job, Mary Margaret," Emma said, sympathetic to her friend's distress. "But we should find Kathryn soon."

Mary Margaret looked over at the clock. "Gosh, it's late," she said, yawning. "I'd better head to bed—tomorrow's Sunday, you know."

"You sure you want to go?" Emma asked in concern. "The way people have been treating you..."

"It's church, Emma," Mary Margaret replied. "Things are different there."

Emma frowned doubtfully, but said nothing. Maybe her friend would be right. Mary Margaret washed out her glass and set it in the dishwasher, then went to bed. Before disappearing, she suggested that Emma get some sleep as well and Emma offered no argument. Each crawled under blankets in their own bedrooms and stared up at their shadowed ceilings for a long time before finally succumbing to sleep.

* * *

Tom gave up on trying to get additional sleep when the time reached 6am. He rolled out of bed and grabbed a fresh change of clothes, heading for the shower (the odd presence of which enforced Tom's theory that this building hadn't always been a library). Wrapped snugly in a towel, he meticulously ran a razor over his jaw, shaving off the hints of a beard that had grown overnight and emphasizing the contrast between his pale skin and dark tattoos.

His eye was caught briefly by the gleam of his golden earrings, and then he started to unfold the neat stack of clothes on the counter. He pulled a long-sleeved back shirt over his head, followed by a green T-shirt, and added a pair of faded blue jeans and his favorite boots. For a final touch he took his yellow scarf and looped it loosely around his throat, European-style.

Tom decided to wait before going to Granny's for his breakfast, sitting down with the book he was currently reading—a study of ancient Scandinavian culture—and immersed himself in information for an hour or so. By the time he removed himself from the page and slipped out the back of the library to head over to Granny's, it was eight o'clock.

When he walked in, he was most confused not to see Ruby there. Her grandmother worked the diner alone, with only the assistance of a face for which Tom had no name. Tom wanted to ask where Ruby had gone, but Granny Lucas was a snappish woman and just the sort of person for which Tom had no taste.

Tom navigated into a small windowed corner of the diner, tucking himself in and satisfied that he would not be joined by any unwanted outsiders. He waited as the harried young waitress made her way over to him, and he briskly ordered some French toast and a tall glass of iced tea. He informed the woman that he would be taking his order outside, and she jotted the order down and walked away. Shortly after Granny disappeared from the front.

Tom squeezed out of the corner and went outdoors. It was getting lighter—were it not for the clouds he would have been witness to a glorious sunrise. Tom didn't care that much. He sat himself down at one of the outdoor bistros and read his book on Scandinavia whilst he waited. Granny was out with his toast and tea some time later. As Tom began to drag his knife through the syprupy toast, Matthew came trotting up. He stopped and stared at Tom.

"You're eating your breakfast outside?" he said wonderingly. The boy laughed and shook his head in amusement. "You're so weird, Mr. Hemming."

Tom frowned at him. Matthew bounded into the diner, and a few moments later came bounding right back out to join Tom at the bistro. "Just to find out why you like it so much," he explained to Tom's demanding look. "I'm having pancakes. Oh!" Matthew reached into the backpack he had brought with him and pulled out a wrapped object, which he handed to Tom. Tom accepted it warily. "This is for you. I noticed you weren't at the Miner's Day celebrations, so I got you one of these."

Tom unwrapped the object and found that it was a candle. The first thought to his head was that the last thing he wanted to do was start a fire in the library. Matthew somehow interpreted his minute expression and laughed.

"Relax, Mr. Hemming, I don't think _one_ candle is going to burn the town down," he said. His pancake arrived and he beamed gratefully at Granny. "Thanks, Granny! Your pancakes are the best!" Granny offered a slight smile in return, which faded when Matthew asked where Ruby was.

"She's taken a mood," she replied curtly. "Quit and walked out last night."

Matthew took on a worried look. "Oh no!" he cried anxiously. "But Granny, it's not Granny's if Ruby isn't here."

"We'll see what happens," Granny replied, and walked away. Tom put another piece of French toast in his mouth and looked after her thoughtfully.

"I hope Ruby comes back," Matthew said, taking up his knife and fork and slicing his pancake.

Tom looked down at the candle Matthew had given him. "Do you have one of these, Matthew?" he asked.

"I collect candles," Matthew replied. "I really like them." He laughed, looking embarrassed. "Some people think I'm silly, but I've always thought that fire looks like a red flower."

"Not silly," Tom answered. "But perhaps a little _Jungle Book_."

"Yeah, maybe that's where I get it from," Matthew mused. He started eating his pancake, slowly at first with the same little frown on his face, then more heartily when he realized that he was both hungry and that the pancake was indeed delicious.

Tom finished his toast and quietly sipped his tea, fingertips poking out of his gloves. Matthew got up soon after, saying that he had to hurry off because it was Sunday and his parents couldn't stand it when they were late for Mass. He ran inside to give his payment to Granny and sped away from the diner. Soon after he left Ruby showed up. Tom watched as she sashayed into the diner with a confidence that wasn't real and wondered briefly what argument had made the young woman leave.

The second waitress whose name Tom never remembered, because he didn't find her at all interesting, soon came into take both the empty dishes and payment. Tom handed her the necessary finances for his toast and tea, keeping the unfinished tea glass for the time being while she went back into the diner with the other dishes. Ruby left the diner a few minutes later with a scowl on her face and a sandwich bag in her hand.

Tom set down his finished glass, empty of both tea and ice, and went over to the library. He unlocked the front door to let himself in and locked it behind him as the library didn't open until afternoon, when Mass (which Lillian also attended) was ended.

As for Tom, well, for some reason the thought of religious involvement had always made him feel very awkward. He wasn't quite able to put his finger on it, but never could he recall plucking up the courage and walking into a church. Was there such a thing as a phobia of church buildings? Tom would have to check the encyclopedias.

Tom went to one of the abandoned, locked backrooms—there were many, as the library had often been forced to sell books in order to pay Mr. Gold's rent. This room Tom had converted into his woodshop, as it was easier to craft things here and bring them to a different room rather than haul them all over the place. Sundays were when Tom got the most work done, since it was very quiet and he didn't have to listen for approaching library visitors. It was twenty minutes to nine o'clock now, so he didn't have worry about stopping and cleaning himself up until approximately 1pm.

Tom donned his work apron and rolled up his sleeves, sitting down with the shelf waiting for his hand. The bookshelf itself was carved out, but now it was time for the details. He paused, thinking of Matthew's very long list of suggestions, and picked up his sketchbook, filled to the brim with designs, and hunted until he found a blank page. There, he began to sketch rough outlines of panthers and wolves, and one particularly malevolent tiger. Oh, he knew just where to put that tiger. Tom picked up his tools and began.

* * *

Sif sat awake long after her comrades had fallen into slumber. Or so she thought: Hogun moved away from the other Warriors and sat down beside her. "Something is troubling you," he stated in undertones. "Ever since Loki first vanished, you have been just as nerve-wracked as Thor; or perhaps even more so. Do you know something concerning Loki's disappearance that we do not?"

As he always did on the occasions he chose to speak, Hogun had struck the crux of the matter. But Sif couldn't let him know that. She shook her head. "I just fear what Loki may be doing at this time," she said. "He is much more vicious a creature than we remember, even more so than the Loki who sent the Destroyer to kill his own brother. Since Loki has fallen from our sight, who knows what he may do and for how long until we find him."

Hogun nodded, his renowned grim expression upon his face. "I understand," he said.

"Get some rest, Hogun," Sif told him. "If there are more creatures like that Stonebreath we faced, we shall need all the strength we possess in order to defeat them."

Hogun nodded a second time, seeing the wisdom of Sif's suggestion, and went back to Fandral and Volstagg, sticking a cloth into Fandral's mouth to muffle the other Asgardian's outrageous snoring. Sif also laid down, but though her eyes closed and breathing slowed, she was wide awake.

When Hogun finally fell to slumber, she rose and quietly crept out of the hut without awakening the others. Once outside, she glanced up at the stars and tried to guess where she was. If only she could orient herself, then perhaps she could find the dark castle again and convince Rumplestiltskin to take back the deal before she was discovered…

"What are you doing?"

Sif jumped and turned on the one who had spoken. The rescuer from earlier that night looked at Sif calmly, disregarding her hands around his throat. His blue eyes looked eerily familiar. Sif released the man's neck and forced herself to relax.

"I could not sleep," she explained. "So I stepped outside for some air."

"I see." The stranger looked at her intently. "You certainly are a nervous one, Sif."

Sif's head whipped around. "How do you know my name?" she demanded.

The stranger lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "I heard your comrades calling you such," he replied.

Again Sif had to force herself to relax. _He is not an enemy,_ she told herself. _Stop behaving in such a blindly frightened manner; you are a warrior!_

"You should go back inside, Sif," the stranger replied, and though it was worded as a suggestion, it sounded more like a command. "This may be the only safe haven in this realm, but it is not by any means devoid of danger." He looked over as a fellow dweller of the village approached, and roughly shoved Sif toward the hut. "In, _now_," he said urgently. Instinctively Sif followed the words, but she peered out at the scene through a crack in the door's structure.

"Who were you speaking to, Dusk?" a man inquired. His complexion was similar to Heimdall's.

"One of the few I brought in, Lancelot," the stranger—Dusk—replied. "She was stepping out for some air. She frets for those she cares about; sleep is evasive."

Lancelot seemed sympathetic. "I understand," he said. "Shall you be resting too?"

"I am actually on the way to relieve one of the sentries," Dusk answered.

"It has been a long day for you."

"I haven't need of any rest. I am fine, Lancelot."

"If you insist. Take care of yourself, Dusk."

Sif watched Lancelot walk away and noted the stranger's worried and tense look as he murmured, "I always do." There seemed to be a great pain churning within him. Not looking at the hut, he said, "Get some rest, Sif," and went to the sentry post.

Sif closed the door the rest of the way and went back to the corner of the hut she had left. She sat down, wondering what it was she had just become involved in.

* * *

Emma noticed Mary Margaret walking past on the street and instantly knew something was wrong. She promised Henry that she would be back soon and ran out of the sheriff's office. "Hey," she panted as she joined Mary Margaret, "I thought you were at church."

A rejected and wounded look dominated Mary Margaret's face. "You know, I thought that…" She laughed bitterly to hide the hurt. "I thought that in church, of all places, I wouldn't be judged so much. But you know what? In there, it's even worse." She shook her head, a flash of desperate anger going across her face. "I can't even go to church anymore! What happened with David is taking _everything_ away from me!"

Emma didn't say anything, her face creasing into a frown. This was so completely unjust, so completely undeserved, but what could she do to change the mind of an entire town? They looked over at the church they both realized they had walked to.

The front door opened, releasing the brief sound of hymns, and a woman stepped out alone, a hand resting over her pregnant belly. She shook her head, a disappointed expression on her face, then spotted Mary Margaret and Emma. To Emma's surprise, her face lit up with a smile. "Mary Margaret!" she cried, waving.

Mary Margaret sent a puzzled look back. "H-hello, Charlene," she called hesitantly.

Charlene came down the steps and joined them. "Good to see you again," she said to Mary Margaret, and again Emma was surprised by the woman's genuine friendliness. Charlene turned to Emma with a smile. "Sheriff Swan," she greeted her. "I don't believe we've had a chance to properly meet. Charlene Boxer." She offered her hand, and as Emma took it she noted that she was very strong.

"Nice to meet you," Emma said politely. She looked over at Mary Margaret. "I need to get back to the sheriff's station." Actually, she shouldn't have left. "You gonna be okay?" she asked in a low voice.

Mary Margaret nodded. "I'll see you later, Emma," she said.

"Yeah, see you," Emma nodded, and ran back to the sheriff's station. Mary Margaret kept walking alongside Charlene. "Are you heading anywhere?" she asked the woman.

Charlene shook her head. "No place in particular," she answered. "I'll probably just end up walking home, though, work some more on the nursery."

"How's that going?" Mary Margaret asked.

"I've finished painting the walls," Charlene said, brightening. "Pink, since she's a girl. But there's blue in there as well. Blue was Benjamin's favorite color." Her hand massaged her expanding belly and her face sagged in sadness. "I just wish he was here," she said softly. "He should be here."

Mary Margaret set a consoling hand on Charlene's shoulder. "Benjamin was a wonderful man," she said kindly. "No woman should have to lose her husband."

Charlene looked back. "No woman should be shunned for a mistake, either," she replied.

Mary Margaret withdrew, subconsciously trying to hide deeper within her coat. "So you know about that."

"Honey, I'm pretty sure everybody knows about that," Charlene said, her expression gentle.

"I suppose you think I'm a tramp, too," Mary Margaret said cynically.

"A tramp? Mary Margaret, nothing could be further than the truth," Charlene said strongly. "You've made a mistake, a huge mistake, and I can see you regret it. You didn't want things to go the way they did. I know you, Mary Margaret; you hated all the secrecy, all the lies."

"Kathryn's disappearance doesn't help any," Mary Margaret said dolefully.

"I know you didn't have anything to do with that," Charlene replied without hesitation. "David, perhaps, but definitely not you."

"David would never hurt anyone," Mary Margaret said defensively.

"Relax, Mary Margaret, I'm just being frank," Charlene said. "I don't know David very well, but I do know you. And I know you would never do anything to hurt Kathryn. I simply can't say that about David because I don't know him like you do. Can you understand that?"

Mary Margaret nodded. "Yes," she said. "Sorry I snapped, Charlene."

"It's alright, Mary Margaret," Charlene replied. "With everyone around here judging you, I must sound like yet another voice of condemnation. But that's not my job."

"I just wish there was something I could do," Mary Margaret said desperately. "Help search for Kathryn, or—"

"Why don't you?"

Mary Margaret paused. "Well, come to think of it, I don't know why I haven't," she said. "I suppose I thought…"

"Don't worry about it, Mary Margaret," Charlene advised her. "Just go out there and help. Who knows? Maybe you'll be the one to find her."

"I hope so," Mary Margaret said. "Thanks, Charlene."

"My pleasure, honey," Charlene replied.

Mary Margaret strode off purposefully to her car, trying not to dwell on the word TRAMP spelled across in red letters, and drove away. Charlene smiled as she watched Mary Margaret, glad to see a healthy purpose in her friend's life again.

* * *

Henry wished that he wasn't so busy trying to help Ruby find a new job. Not that helping her find a new job wasn't important—she was Red Riding Hood, after all, it was awesome to be helping her—but there was still the unsettled matter of Tom Hemming's real identity.

When Ruby returned with lunch and Emma proposed that she come with her to search for David, whom Mary Margaret had reported wandering around the woods, Henry found the opportunity he had been waiting for. After the adults left, he found himself a good spot in the office and opened up _Mixed Fables_.

He turned the text-spread and illustrated pages until he eventually _The Trickster's Deal_, the story he remembered Matthew saying was his favorite. The picture on the opposite page to the title depicted, in the midst of a dark castle, two magicians locked in a fierce battle; one bursting with green flame while the other reached for his heart. One Henry knew very well, for he made frequent appearances in _Once Upon A Time_: Rumplestiltskin.

As for the other… Henry looked closer, eyes narrowing. It was Tom Hemming, no doubt about it. Though the tattoos were lacking, the similarities were uncanny. The Tom Hemming in the storybook had his lips pulled back in an enraged snarl, and his eyes glowed—not with magic, Henry thought, but something more like insanity. Looking closer, he could see tear tracks.

He searched for the name of the magician, the real name of Tom Hemming from the library. It didn't take him long to find it: _Loki._ Henry paused, wondering if he had heard that name before. He went over to the computer on one of the desks and searched the Internet for results.

"Oh my gosh," Henry breathed, staring at the results he had found.

Loki, the Trickster of ancient Norse mythology. There was a _god_ trapped in Storybrooke. Henry turned off the monitor and snapped his book shut when Regina came in to take him home.

* * *

Volstagg was the first to awake of the Warriors Three, for a change. He looked around, concerned by the fact that Balder was nowhere to be seen. As of last night, Volstagg was the only one to know their rescuer from the previous night was Thor's youngest brother. Balder had pleaded with Volstagg to be silent, for he wanted to tell everyone himself in the light of day. And now that the light of day was here, where was Balder?

Volstagg quietly rose and made his way to the door, but of course Hogun and Fandral woke up. Hogun looked at Volstagg inquiringly while Fandral asked where he was going, which in turn jolted Sif from her sleep. "I must speak with someone privately," Volstagg answered. "I'll be back soon." He turned and left the hut.

Looking around now, Volstagg concluded they were among refugees, and he wondered what they were fleeing from. He asked a passing child where Balder was and received only a quizzical look in return. Volstagg stumbled through a rough description of the youngest Odinson until the child's face lit in recognition. "Oh, you mean Dusk!" he exclaimed, and pointed. "He's over there, with the livestock."

Volstagg thanked the boy and followed the directions he had been given. He found Balder milking one of the cows, his head resting against her side as he soothingly murmured to her. He looked so utterly different from Thor; dressed in a peasant's clothes rather than a prince's finery, rough and tangled hair that was a darker gold than Thor's, a full, bristly beard, and hands accustomed to a servant's work. He couldn't even see the blue eyes matching Thor's, for they were closed as Balder hummed.

Volstagg chuckled. "Attending to your princely duties, I see," he remarked.

Balder started before realizing that it was only Volstagg. He chuckled also, but it was flavored with old pain. "I am not a prince here, Volstagg," he said quietly. "I am only a man."

Volstagg nodded understanding. "That is why they only know you as Dusk here, isn't it?" he asked. Balder nodded. "You said last night that you could help Thor," Volstagg prompted.

Balder sighed heavily, hanging his head, and Volstagg knew something was wrong. Balder took his full milk pail and moved away from the cow. "I lied."

Volstagg stared at him in shock. "What?"

Balder hesitated, the look of pain on his face again. He stroked the cow's ears and untied her from the post, taking her back to the rest of her herd. He watched the livestock for a moment, struggling internally. Then he looked over at Volstagg, who had barely been able to remain silent all this time. "Follow me," the prince told the warrior, and he led Volstagg outside of the village, where the Asgardian beheld a most chilling sight: a clearing filled with statues.

Volstagg had seen many things in his nearly thirteen hundred years of life, but this was more eerie and disturbing than all of them. He was shocked completely into silence. He found himself drawn into the grim environment, gazing in horror at the statues' frightened or snarling faces. Most of them were little children, unable to move fast enough, or the elderly, trapped for the same reason. Some were warriors, not knowing what they had been facing, and some were animals, either fleeing in terror or standing in hostile defiance.

"There are thirty-one of them," Balder said as Volstagg moved among the statues. "Thor makes thirty-two."

"Is there nothing you can do?" Volstagg asked desperately.

Balder shook his head. "If there were, I would have freed all these poor souls," he replied. "Stonebreath takes everything from us and we have nothing with which to take it back."

"What is Stonebreath?" Volstagg asked. His hand rested on top of a statue cat's head, and the rock was so cold it almost burned. He snatched his hand away.

"None of us know," Balder told him. "Stonebreath is the name we give it, for that is what suits its vile nature. It is one of the unheard-of monsters that came with the unleashing of the Curse, along with the return of the Ogres."

"Curse?" Volstagg echoed in alarm, turning sharply to face Balder again.

"Over this entire land," Balder answered wearily. "There is much you need to learn, Volstagg, in order to survive in this place. Let us return to the camp and to your fellow warriors. I would rather explain this horror only once."

They left, Volstagg glancing over his shoulder at the stone Thor, who would be frozen for as long as anyone could see. There had to be a way to free him. There had to.

* * *

Lillian came into Tom's woodshop and cast a glance over his bookcase-in-progress, covered in lines of chalk. Tom was carefully carving out the malevolent face of a tiger. "He's a nasty-looking one," Lillian remarked.

"I can't think of something for the other side," Tom replied with a frown.

"I'm sure that won't be bothering you for long," Lillian reassured him. "You always have inspiration at just the right moment." She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. "Oh, Jim was at Mass today, and he got me your key for the school, so you can go in and do measurements tomorrow while the kids are in class."

"Set it on the table by the door," Tom instructed her.

"Alright." Lillian set the key down and walked a little closer to where Tom was working. "This is lovely work, Tom," she said, her tones shining. "Another masterpiece in the making, I can see."

"I've barely even started," Tom said.

"And when you're done, I'll feel as though I must bestow you with medal upon medal," Lillian replied with a smile. "I'm going to open up the library, now. I haven't got anything for you to do right now, so go ahead and consider this your job for today."

Tom looked at her in surprise. "Really?"

"Of course," Lillian answered. "I know you enjoy working in your woodshop, so take this day and do just that. But Tom, don't forget to eat—you have had lunch, haven't you?"

"No," Tom muttered, looking embarrassed.

Lillian laughed and shook her head. "Then I'll hop over to Granny's and get you some before I open up," she said. Tom started to protest and she kindly cut him off. "My treat, Tom, you don't need to tie yourself up in a knot over it."

Tom blinked and then slowly nodded thanks before sitting back down at his bench and continuing to work, a vaguely bewildered look splayed across his features. Lillian smiled lightly, thinking to herself that Tom really needed to learn how to voice his gratitude, because it did go a long way. She left the woodshop, making certain it was locked to anyone who wasn't an employee of the library, and popped into Granny's for a time, happily socializing before returning to her lonely library.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's notes: **aw yes we're back on track, we hit the sack-no wait, those aren't the right lyrics._

_From this point on, I'm aiming to get at least one finished chapter up a week, more if I can manage. I've got a new job (SO EXCITED ABOUT THAT :DDD), so between that and my studies there isn't as much time for writing as I'd like. But things should settle in time, and perhaps then I shall be able to do some more._

_**Warnings:** none, really. But Balder does have the trademark Odinson Anger Issues, it turns out.  
_

* * *

It was far into the night by the time the panther returned, chasing off the mad tiger with a powerful roar accompanied by the strike of claws. The old tiger quickly left, shielded by his pack of young wolves. Balder stared down at the panther's gleaming yellow eyes. "It's about time you got here," he said. "That tiger was climbing up this tree—repeatedly!"

"Shere Kahn is determined," the panther replied.

"Shere Kahn, so that is the tiger's name," Balder mused. He gave the panther a curious look. "And what is yours?"

"Bagheera," the panther replied. "Now come down; haste is of the most importance at this time."

"Did you take care of all you needed to, Bagheera?" Balder asked, changing position so he was no longer straddling the tree branch beneath him.

"Yes," Bagheera replied. "Hurry, son of Odin, we must fly."

Balder dropped easily from the tree and released a high cry, summoning his horse. "Where is it you wish to lead me, Bagheera?" he asked.

"A haven," Bagheera replied. "There is a place some days' travel from here, and whoever makes it there, and stays, shall pass through this Curse untouched."

"What sort of place?" Balder asked, curious.

"That is an explanation of too much length for this time," Bagheera replied. "Now mount your horse and follow me, Asgardian. We must go quickly."

Balder didn't mount his horse. "I can't," he said.

Bagheera's ears laced back. "What?" he demanded.

"I cannot go to this haven," Balder replied. "Not yet. Please, Bagheera," he begged understanding, "I have someone."

The panther was tense, but he knew where Balder stood. "Where?"

"If we return via the gateway you brought us here through, only two days away from this place," Balder replied.

"We may not have that time," Bagheera warned.

"Then you need only take me back to the gateway," Balder answered.

Bagheera sighed and shook his head. "I cannot leave you to your fate, Æsir," he said. "Come, the swifter we travel the swifter we shall return." He bounded forward and Balder quickly swung onto his stallion's saddle and galloped after.

* * *

Tom's lunch sat uneaten on the table by the door while he continued to work, and he looked up sharply, noticing with a frown that it was getting dark. It was the disadvantage of wintertime, and one of the very few things Tom had against the season. He stood and went to lift the shutters so as to admit the last remnants of daylight. He opened the window some as well, for it was getting stuffy in the small woodshop, and Tom liked the cold besides.

As he was leaning back into the woodshop, he saw Matthew walking past, earbuds in as he sang of the silver screen, opinions that were easier to swallow than facts, and the greys instead of the whites and the blacks.

"_I wanna believe, I wanna believe you_

_But everything is in-between_

_The fact is fiction_

_The fact is fic—_"

Matthew stopped and pulled his earbuds out when he noticed Tom was watching and waved. "Hey, Mr. Hemming!" he called. "How's it going?"

Tom nodded in reply, not saying anything.

"Is that where you make your bookcases, not just somewhere else?" Matthew asked. "Cool!" He rushed off, and Tom told himself he was not going to open the door when the knock came. The knock proved quite persistent, however, and Tom released an irritable sigh as he opened the door, snapping at Matthew to be cautious.

"Whoa," Matthew breathed as he came in, peering at the tools Tom had sorted and located throughout the room. "What do all of these _do?_"

"Much," Tom replied curtly. He glanced over as he noted the sheriff's car driving past, heading for the animal hospital. Tom wondered briefly what she could want over there, then went back to casting a perturbed look over Matthew as he (with exaggerated care) walked around the woodshop.

Lillian poked her head in and said she was going home for the night. "I'm locking the doors," she said, "can you do the rest?"

Tom nodded. Lillian thanked him and noticed Matthew, who whipped his hand behind his back because he most certainly had _not_ been about to touch the chalk lines on Tom's bookcase-in-progress. "Do you need to leave, young man?" Lillian asked.

Matthew gave Tom a questioning look, though a more accurate adjective would likely be pleading. Tom hesitated, then focused on the blade he was cleaning. "He's alright," he said, and Matthew beamed.

Lillian came up to the bookcase Tom had spent his day working on and admired it. "It's amazing, Tom!" she praised her assistant.

"I still can't think of something for the other side," Tom muttered, frowning.

"As I said before, I'm sure you will," Lillian answered. "After all, you always do. Goodnight, Tom, and you are…?"

"Matthew," Matthew introduced himself. He offered his hand, very proper, and shook Lillian's own hand firmly. Lillian seemed both impressed and amused; similar to the sentiments Tom had towards the boy himself, though Lillian lacked Tom's incredulity. "Well, you certainly have a way with introduction, Matthew," Lillian replied. "I'm Ms. Williams, and it's lovely to meet you. I'll see you tomorrow, boys."

Matthew seemed to like being included in that. Tom nodded again, murmuring a low "see you" and continued with cleaning and setting his tools back in their places. Matthew watched him and asked the names of the different tools Tom handled, sometimes getting answers and sometimes not. Eventually Matthew sighed and said, "I'm late for curfew, I better run back home. See you tomorrow, Mr. Hemming."

"I shall have to unlock the doors for you," Tom said, leaving the woodshop with the lad. He opened the doors and let Matthew out of the library, then locked the doors again. He went back to his woodshop to finish putting things away and began going through the library to make certain everything was shut and locked.

* * *

Balder found it slightly amusing that Hogun, Fandral, and Lady Sif still didn't recognize him, even in daylight, but only slightly, for he had expected as much. At least he wouldn't be mistaken for his brother Thor. "I see that you finally got some sleep," he remarked to Sif, and wondered why she tensed. "It would be best if we had this conversation elsewhere," Balder continued, and motioned for them to follow.

They paused as two riders, Balder's fellows from the night before, rode past on their way out of the camp. "Philip, Mulan," Balder said, bowing respectfully to each of them. "Much fortune in your quest, I pray for you."

"Thank you, Dusk," Philip replied with equal honor. "We shall miss your company." He and Mulan both turned their horses and rode out of the camp.

"What is his quest?" Volstagg asked.

"True love," Balder replied, and a pained expression flashed across his face. "She lies under the power of a sleeping curse somewhere far from here. Philip and Mulan may not make it, but I have seen both of them in battle. Hope lingers for their cause yet." He continued to lead them out of the village, nodding to Lancelot across the square and muttering to the Asgardians, "Whatever happens, say nothing." Volstagg nodded, and much to Balder's relief the others decided to follow his lead.

Lancelot came over. "I haven't had a chance yet to meet your friends, Dusk," he said.

Balder offered the camp's authority a slight smile. "They are disoriented, Lancelot," he said politely. "I wished to take them someplace quiet and removed where I can explain everything to them."

"They do not know?" Lancelot was surprised, and he shot an intrigued look at Balder's companions.

"You know how curses are," Balder said vaguely. "They trust and know me, Lancelot—" (here he noticed the others, aside from Volstagg, start in surprise) "—I would rather tell them on my own, in private."

Lancelot nodded. "I understand," he said. "I only request that you be quick, Dusk; there is a matter of importance I wish to speak with you of."

"I shall be concise," Balder assured him. "Worry not, Lancelot, I shall being joining you shortly." They continued on, and once out of the village Sif sharply demanded what he had meant when he said they trusted and knew him.

"Trust might be something of a stretch, but…" Balder turned and presented an exaggerated salute, Asgardian-style. "Balder the Bright, at your service," he said with forced grandeur.

"Balder!" Fandral cried victoriously. "We came here in search of you!"

Balder faltered. "You—you did?" He looked over at Volstagg. "Why?"

"Loki," Volstagg replied.

"Loki? Why would you seek me out over such a thing as Loki?" Balder was very confused.

"It seems that you will not be the only one who must explain things," Volstagg said, a solemn look to his eyes. "But since you arranged this meeting, you go first."

"Very well," Balder agreed, sending a troubled glance in Volstagg's direction. "As I told you; yes, it is me, Balder. I said to Volstagg last night that you should not have come here, and I stand firmly by those words. Yet now that you are here, it is imperative that you understand that even the Bifrost does not possess the power to bring you back to your home."

"How so?" Fandral asked, his eyes expanding in alarm.

"Before this time, it was difficult for the Bifrost to retrieve from this place. But now, because of the Curse, it is wholly impossible."

"The Curse?" Fandral echoed.

"The evil Queen Regina sent a Curse over this entire realm," Balder told them. "A roiling, evil smoke that devoured all, and when it cleared, nearly everyone was gone." He swallowed as he struggled for composure. _They_ couldn't know about this. "Everyone. We know not where they are, but what we do know of the Curse is that it is designed to take away the thing you love most." _And it has certainly done as such for me._

"How long has this curse been in place?" Sif asked.

"Twenty-eight years," Balder replied. "Those of us who remained were frozen in that time, but some months ago our bindings were released. I am not yet certain what brought about our freedom of movement."

"No wonder Heimdall couldn't find you," Fandral said. "This world is steeped in so much dark magic, even he cannot see through it all."

"It is all a matter of knowing how, Fandral," Balder replied, and the Asgardian gave him an odd look. "And as for the other thing I must explain… I told you last night that I could help Thor."

They looked at him hopefully, excepting Volstagg, who turned his eyes away with an expression of grief.

"I lied," Balder said, and he had thought it would be harder to say. "There is nothing to be done."

"But—" Fandral stammered. "It's Thor. Your own brother. Surely there is something you can do!"

Balder shook his head. "I haven't the power, and the masters of this realm's magic are all gone. Cora has been without magic since the Curse struck, and I would sooner slay myself than go to such a witch as her, and Rumplestiltskin and Queen Regina both vanished with everyone else of this realm."

"Both?" Sif queried, seeming very interested in what Balder had just said. Though _perturbed_ would likely be a more accurate description of the look upon her face.

"Who is Cora?" Volstagg asked.

"You don't want to know," Balder said quickly, shuddering at the thought of the witch. "To compare Cora to Regina is to compare Ymir to Laufey—however bad you may think the latter is, it is nothing compared to what has preceded it." Balder spread his arms apart. "And that is the entirety of it." Which, of course, was a lie, but they didn't need to know the rest. It was far too personal a thing for Balder to tell to the likes of Thor's friends. "Now it's your turn."

"We are searching for Loki," Volstagg began.

"Heimdall can't find him anywhere," Fandral added.

"And it is vital that he is brought back to Asgard, for not only has he escaped, but he has stolen something as well," Volstagg finished.

"Is that all?" Balder wondered, giving the group a bemused look. "You have no need of me for so small a task. Loki will play his games to his purpose and then return, you should well know his behavior by now. Why fret and come all this way?" He began to walk back toward the village, but the others missed his signal that the conversation was over and followed after him.

"It is no small task!" Sif exclaimed. "Your brother is stone now because he was trying to find you—"

"I _know_ that!" Balder snapped, turning a fierce glare upon the woman. "He's my brother, I understand what he has sacrificed! But I have more important things to do."

"Such as what?" Sif demanded. She scoffed. "Another quest?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Balder replied curtly. He called out and his magnificent grey, so clearly a horse of Asgard, responded to his command. The stallion was already prepared for the journey, a task Balder had seen to as dawn had first begun to arrive. He moved to swing atop his steed, but Sif grabbed him harshly by the arm and spun him around.

"You cannot leave," she said flatly. "Thor needs you."

"This takes precedence," Balder replied instantly. "I can't expect you to understand, he's your Mighty Thor after all, but I have been trapped in my own skin for the past twenty-eight years, the epitome of utter helplessness, and I shall wait no longer."

"_Nothing_ is more important than this!" Sif cried urgently, shaking Balder roughly by the shoulders. "Forget your obsession with hunting out glory, and save your brother! Do you not understand what is at risk? Don't you know what Loki will do, if we don't stop him in time?"

Balder became very still and stared at Sif, fear for his brother slowly coming in to dominate his features. "What _will_ Loki do if we don't stop him in time?" he asked softly.

* * *

Loki ricocheted off the shield Rumplestiltskin had constructed around himself and ground to a halt. "Pathetic!" he spat in disdain, and the queer light in his eyes enhanced. Rumplestiltskin felt uneasy, but none of it rose to his face.

"I do what's needed, dearie," he said, and set his quill down.

Loki immediately noticed the purple-black smoke crawling from between the pages of Rumplestiltskin's book and backed away, protective green flames flaring around his slender hands. "Is this how you would do things, imp?" he demanded. "Fight me, Rumplestiltskin. _Fight me!_" His voice twisted into a high scream. This Loki was a far cry from the boy who tricked Frost Giants into the Allfather Odin's Vault.

Rumplestiltskin knew he would win. This was his territory, after all. Still, he knew that Loki would provide a pleasurable challenge, and it wouldn't be long before Rumplestiltskin had nothing left to entertain himself with. He grinned and brushed his shield aside, brushed everything aside, and he and Loki faced each other across the stone-formed room.

"This isn't going to prove beneficial to you, Loki," Rumplestiltskin warned with a second grin. The soles of their boots waded through shadows tinged with purple.

Loki released a short bark of laughter, hysteria on its fringes. Rumplestiltskin knew well the sight of a desperate soul, and Loki was well beyond that point. "That is what you think," Loki sneered arrogantly. He vaulted forward and Rumplestiltskin cast a binding spell at him, something powerful enough to freeze even Regina. Loki was held for but a moment before he blasted through. In the old days he would have wriggled his way out.

The coward in Rumplestiltskin shrank back, but he had been confident in the power of the Dark One for too long. This was going to be _fun._ So Rumplestiltskin laughed.

* * *

Mr. Gold stood just outside of his closed shop, watching as Tom Hemming walked down the other side of the street toward Granny's diner. Hemming glanced over at Mr. Gold and shivered, pulling his scarf more snugly around his throat.

That was an unexpected side effect. Though, to be fair, Mr. Gold hadn't been sure just what sort of results he had been expecting in the first place. The cursed Loki being afraid of him certainly hadn't been one of them. Mr. Gold had been hoping perhaps for some of the clever camaraderie they had shared back in the worlds of magic, as unlikely as it would have been in this place.

Oh well. As always, Mr. Gold would find a way to turn it to his advantage. A previously unknown ally would have aroused too much suspicion, anyhow. The pawnbroker walked around to his Cadillac and as he was driving home he noticed Sheriff Swan's vehicle heading for its own destination, with Mary Margaret Blanchard in the seat. The deal for Regina was going according to plan.

* * *

"Balder, it's… hard to explain," Volstagg said gently.

"Hard in what way?" Balder demanded, staring from one Asgardian to the next. "What's happened to Loki? What has been done to my brother?"

"He's changed, Balder," Sif said bluntly, and Volstagg winced. "Loki's evil."

Balder gaped at her in horror. "You lie, Sif," he stammered.

"She does not," Fandral said sadly. "It is truth, Balder. Loki has turned to the dark."

"But… how?' Balder's voice shrank, and his eyes were fearful as he looked at Volstagg. "Why?"

"He…" Volstagg began.

"He's not your brother, Balder," Sif snapped, and the others were taken aback by her harshness. "He never was, the traitor. Loki is a Frost Giant, son of Laufey. The Allfather took him to Asgard along with the Casket."

Balder blinked at her dumbly.

"It is true," Hogun affirmed. "Loki is a Jotun. His ability to shapeshift had kept him an Asgardian so long that even he didn't suspect."

"Father… lied?" Balder asked in confusion. The others didn't answer.

"Loki went mad after learning the truth of his origins," Volstagg told Balder, finally taking control of the conversation. "It didn't help that Odin fell into the Odinsleep, and Thor had been banished earlier, since he had lead us to Jotunheim and provoked Laufey and his giants into battle. Though his causes were certainly justifiable, the fact the excursion nearly killed Fandral was not. Loki was left as king."

Balder sat down on the grass, gesturing minutely with his hand. "Go on," he said hollowly.

Volstagg gestured to his comrades. "When we went to get Thor back, Loki sent the Destroyer after us."

"No!" Balder cried in dismay, shooting up to his feet again.

"Yes," Volstagg nodded, and it hurt to see the pained and betrayed confusion on Balder's face. "Thor defeated it, but by the time we returned to Asgard Loki had already murdered Laufey—"

Balder groaned and covered his face with his hands.

"Us four took Heimdall to the Healing Rooms, for Loki had frozen him using the Casket of Ancient Winters, and Thor went to see to Loki on his own."

Volstagg stopped, looking at Balder. The young Asgardian seemed devoid, utterly so. There was not a better word for the look of his eyes. "I'm going to loathe the words that next come from your lips, Volstagg, am I not?" he asked softly.

Regret coursed through Volstagg, regret that such horrible things had happened, and now he must tell another and watch the pain start all over again. "Loki turned the Bifrost upon Jotunheim," he continued. "Apparently, if it is directed upon any place for too long, it begins to bore a hole through that realm. Loki knew this. Thor tried to stop him but it was too late, and Thor was forced to destroy the Bifrost itself with Mjolnir."

Much work, many deals, had gone into reconstructing the Bifrost, and even then it had taken Asgard nearly two years to repair the tip of the Rainbow Bridge. Volstagg sighed and forced himself to go on. "Loki tried to spear him through with Gungnir, but in the Bifrost's destruction they both found themselves hanging off the shattered end of the bridge, caught by Odin."

"And now Loki is a prisoner," Balder murmured.

"No, he let go," Volstagg said softly. Balder made a choked noise and distressed tears appeared in his eyes. "He let go and fell. We thought him dead."

"Please stop," Balder whispered, but no one heard him.

"He resurfaced on Midgard more than a year later and launched an attack," Sif picked up, and Volstagg gave her a grateful look. "That was when he was captured."

"My brother was _dead_, for a _year_, and no one told me," Balder said, his voice holding carefully suppressed rage. "Naturally." Everything he had just been told had shocked and rattled him to the core, but the fact that his entire family had been in mourning for one of their own for a year, and Balder had not known… that was _unforgiveable._

Balder released a bitter laugh, demanding, "Am I so forgotten that such a tragedy as Loki's madness and death will never reach my ears, unless by some wild chance I'm _needed_ for something?"

"He's not your brother," Sif said.

"_He is my brother!_" Balder shouted back, whipping around and practically roaring into Sif's face. She stumbled back. The ferocity in Balder's gesture surpassed any rage Thor had displayed in the past, and that made Volstagg wonder. "He will _always_ be my brother, it's never mattered whether or not he loves me back!"

So saying, he shoved them aside and ran, snarling at them to leave him alone.

* * *

Tom finally remembered to have his lunch, but by the time he finished eating it he realized that he was still hungry enough for dinner as well. He left the library, locking the door behind him, and went over to Granny's. On the way he noticed Mr. Gold watching him and shivered uneasily.

With satisfaction Tom noted the return of Ruby and knew all was as it ought to be in the diner. He ordered his usual dinner of steak and salad, to go. He took it with a nod of thanks and went back to the library, sneaking in through his usual back route.

He remembered that a few windows had still their shutters lifted, so he dropped them and turned the rod to cut off nearly all the light from outside. He also saw to the sparsely-stocked cash register (for overdue fines), and took the school key Lillian had given him earlier that day and added it to his keychain, and then took a large portable toolbox and loaded it with what he would be using tomorrow.

Finally finished with his day's work, Tom turned off the lights and activated the library's weak alarm system. He went back to his room and flicked on his lamp. It was the little room's only source of light, due to something being wrong with the ceiling light's wiring. Tom took a water bottle out of his small cooler, and sat down cross-legged on his bed with his dinner and a book.

After eating up everything—Tom didn't believe in abandoning even a crumb—he neatly closed and folded up his garbage, pushing it into a trash bag that would soon be taken out for collection. Tom turned a few more pages of his book, but while Scandinavia was a most fascinating assortment of cultures, Tom found himself restless. So he turned off his lamp and picked up the Brail textbook by his bed, running his fingers over the raised letters to see if his reading had improved lately.

Not by much, but it did the trick of soothing him. His fingers moved more and more slowly across the pages (who knew that a textbook on geology could be so relaxing), and Tom gradually dropped off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's notes:** BALDER. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE CUTE AND SLIGHTLY FLUFFY BROTHER. WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO RIVAL LOKI'S ANGST. YOU FOIL MY PLANS, YOU WICKED LITTLE ASGARDIAN. (basically what I've been screaming at my laptop since November)  
_

_I've only got five or six chapters left to go for rough editing (which is about %80 of the process), so maybe *gasp!* this story will be completed in the next two months or so.  
_

_**Warnings:** suggested abuse, and a torture scene.  
_

* * *

_Ahaha, you thought I was done. Nope! This is actually an attempt to pull influence. There is a story I found, but alas and alack, there is only one chapter, for there wasn't enough feedback or interest generated. It is by Moki Hunter and the story title is _Redemption.

_Essentially, it's a Loki redemption story. But stranded on Midgard with Thor and Bruce instead! Have any of you ever heard of a Loki redemption story with Bruce? I haven't. The story looks brilliant, with so much potential, and so this is me trying to give it the attention it so very much deserves. Because I want mooooore. ;)  
_

* * *

Matthew tried to kick his alarm clock when it went off this morning, but it turned out that he just wasn't that agile when he was four fifths asleep. Grumbling, he slapped the obnoxious beeping off and slouched to collect his school things, gazing longingly at his bed.

He went downstairs, and despite the fact it hadn't been long since he had last bathed (only yesterday! Sheesh!), his mother still attacked his face with a hot washcloth and ran a brush through his hair _three_ times, and then again after breakfast. Matthew worried about his mom sometimes. It couldn't be healthy to be so tidy.

Matthew's dad, Kishen, had left for work hours before Matthew had awoken. Nearly a year ago, he hadn't been gone so much, home with his family for breakfast and getting home in time for dinner, but now most days he was rarely seen, at least by his son. Matthew missed him, missed the way his dad used to be.

His mom gave him his lunch, and Matthew ran down to street to catch up with the bus (his mother's fussing often made him late). He catapulted inside, joining in the noisy conversation and screams with all the other kids with full enthusiasm.

Once at the school, he meandered his way to his classroom, saying hi to a few of the kids he knew and roughhousing with some of the boys from his class. Sometimes Matthew's parents worried about the bigger boys in his class, since he was almost a year younger than all of them, but Matthew loved wrestling with them during recess, even if they sometimes had to stop and help him out when he had an asthma attack.

If it wasn't too serious, the boys would stand in a circle around him so the adults wouldn't report it and Matthew's parents would continue allowing Matthew to play with the other boys. They were pals like that; sometimes Matthew found it amusing how his best friends were always the rougher kids.

Still, as much as Matthew loved his friends at school, he couldn't help feeling at times that every day was like the rest. And that got boring. He wondered if anything would happen to set this Monday apart.

* * *

"No, please, do listen to me," Mowgli pleaded. "This is important. Bagheera says something terrible—a curse!—is coming this way, and we have to escape it, outpace it."

"We can't rely on the word of a panther, young Mowgli," Dhananjay, the village priest, said with fraying patience. "Their kind kill us."

"But it's Bagheera, he'd never do anything against you," Mowgli insisted. "Not unless you did something against me, and he knows you're my friends. I promise he warns us only for our own good, our own safety. He's my friend, my mentor, you can trust him."

"Young Mowgli is right," said Messua. "He has proven his integrity and the integrity of those he calls kith and kin."

"I met the wolves who raised him," said Amala, the young girl who had drawn Mowgli to the village in the first village. "They are honorable, and if Bagheera is anything like them, he would do nothing against us as long as we do nothing against Mowgli."

"He does this for your protection as well as mine," Mowgli said. He lifted his chin, strength burning in his eyes. "And if you will not come with me… then I must go alone."

"Nonsense, Mowgli," Dhananjay said. "You're one of us; a Man. You cannot turn your back on your own kind."

"I never used to care for my own kind," Mowgli retorted. "And I can easily return to that way, but… but I don't want it to come to that. Please. You're my friends, too. You don't deserve this curse."

Dhananjay paused for a long time, thinking. He sighed. "It is late, Mowgli. All of us need to retire and rest. When dawn comes we shall reach a decision."

"There is no time," Mowgli said urgently.

"It can wait until dawn," Dhananjay said firmly. "Now go and sleep, boy."

Reluctantly Mowgli went back to the hut of Abhay and Messua, accompanied by them both and their daughter, and they all laid down to rest, the fire fading in the hearth. Mowgli stayed awake in the darkness, listening as the village sank into silence. He had to do something. He needed to.

* * *

He's pinned down, helpless, a great weight boring into his chest. He can't breathe, he's afraid, he spews bile. Is this burden going to grind him into dust? He deserves it. Light is flashing all around him and the golden one (_fiercely hated, fiercely loved, who is he?_), above, below, around. All things burn.

And then, out of place, out of time, that crocodile face appears and grins down at him.

_"I've thought of that price, dearie. It's just a little thing."_

A knife soars through air, cutting through the splinters and fragile trust and piercing and he's dying, fading, choking on himself…

* * *

Tom woke up clutching at his throat, struggling to breathe. Heaving, he looked around in a panic and fumbled for his lamp, desperately craving light, anything that could shake this oppressive darkness. He gripped the edge of his bedside table, knuckles stark white against the tan wood.

He glanced down at his wristwatch, the face currently backwards on his wrist, and deciphered the time of the turning hands: 5:59. A minute before he had intended to awaken. Groaning (it was a dream but Tom still felt as though someone had dropped an anvil on his chest), he got out of the bed and prepared for the day.

After showering, Tom slicked his mostly-dry hair back and put his cleaned earrings back into their respective holes, four miniature gold hoops and one green stud. Tom had lost the other one and never found it again, which was annoying. Today, he selected shoes rather than boots and after getting dressed pulled a coat over everything else and walked to the school, grabbing a heavily caffeinated tea from Granny's along the way.

Classes had already started at the elementary school, so Tom wouldn't have much company while he examined the small library. This, he had no problems with. He went about the school's library, taking measurements and jotting down notes, and within the hour he was done. Certain that he would have a full docket for a long time now (and he wasn't starting until he knew the school would be paying him—time, tools, and wood were not inexpensive), Tom left the elementary school's library.

On his way out he was stopped by one of the teachers—was he was the one Lillian referred to as Jim?—who enthusiastically inquired if Tom was the one here to see to the bookcases. Tom nodded in confirmation. "Great!" the teacher who might be Jim exclaimed. "Have you started measuring in the library yet?"

"I just finished," Tom replied shortly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get my breakfast."

"Oh. Um, well, I was wondering if you could take a look at the shelves in the other classrooms, maybe?" the teacher who might be Jim asked. "They're pretty old, and I've seen some of your designs in the library. They're extraordinary."

"I am not doing this as a volunteer, sir," Tom said flatly.

"Oh." The teacher who might be Jim wilted. "Of course. Well, um, if you don't mind taking a look—just to see if it's something you'd like to do—that, uh, that would be nice." The look from the teacher who might be Jim was somewhat pleading.

Tom frowned at him. "Perhaps," he answered curtly. "But not today. Goodbye, sir." He strode briskly away.

* * *

Matthew looked in and realized that Miss Blanchard wasn't in the classroom, but one of the sisters from the convent was. Sister Astrid; she wasn't the cleverest or most useful of nuns, but she was very nice. Matthew liked her smile. But where was Miss Blanchard?

"Where's Mary Margaret?" Henry asked frantically. He looked as though he hadn't slept a wink; his backpack was clenched in his hands.

"Miss Blanchard won't be back for some time," Sister Astrid replied, and she bit her lip in concern.

"My dad said she was taken to the jail last night," one of the girls said morbidly. Matthew could never remember her name, but he didn't like her very much. She had this obsession with the worst things that could possibly happen. But was she right this time?

Sister Astrid sighed and nodded. "Yes, that is true," she told them. "New evidence has been found that suggests—"

"Miss Blanchard killed Mrs. Nolan," the morbid girl finished.

"Yes," Sister Astrid said. "Yes, that is what they found, but we don't know—where's Henry?"

The others looked around. "There he is!" Paige cried, pointing to where the boy was pelting across the schoolyard, his backpack still in hand. Following an odd impulse, Matthew slipped out of the classroom and ran after. Something bad was happening—Miss Blanchard would never hurt anyone, much less kill them. That was wrong, and Miss Blanchard never did anything wrong!

Henry knew what was happening. Matthew was certain of it. It didn't take him long to run the slightly-older boy down and jerk him to a halt by grabbing hold of his backpack. "What's going on, Henry?" he demanded.

Henry tried to tug his backpack away from Matthew's grip and cast a suspicious look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Sister Astrid said that Miss Blanchard might have killed someone," Matthew said. "That's not right, we both know that Miss Blanchard is a nice woman. You know what's going on, you've got to. You're always spending so much time around her and Sheriff Swan."

"I don't know yet," Henry confessed, not meeting Matthew's gaze as his eyes darted about nervously. "I was trying to call Emma last night and couldn't reach her. Now I know why."

"This is really bad, isn't it?" Matthew asked. He hoped that Miss Blanchard would be okay. She was a good teacher.

"I can help," Henry said certainly. "I have a few ideas. We'll have our teacher back soon."

Matthew nodded. "Thanks, Henry," he said. "You're a weird kid, but you're smart. You know how to help other people, I've seen you do it."

Henry blinked at him in surprise. "Thanks. You're not so bad either, Matthew." His eyes narrowed curiously. "You're making friends with that librarian guy, aren't you?"

"Yeah, Mr. Hemming," Matthew replied. "I like him, though he really is a piece of work." He laughed. "Once you get past the glacier-like personality, he's actually pretty nice. At least I think so. I haven't made it all the way yet."

He noticed Mr. Hemming coming out of the school and turned to track the assistant librarian's progress down the far walkway. "Hey, there he is right now!"

"You should hang out with him more," Henry suggested. He slung his backpack over his shoulders. "I've got to go help Mary Margaret and Emma. Good luck with Mr. Hemming, Matthew."

"Thanks, Henry," Matthew called. "Hey, Mr. Hemming!" he called, and ran after the towering figure. Henry turned and ran for the sheriff's station.

* * *

Tom looked over at Matthew as the boy came bounding over. "Matthew, you ought to be in class," he said reprovingly.

"I'm already a class ahead of my age," Matthew said with a dismissive shrug. He looked interestedly at the box of tools Tom carried. "What are you doing here? What are those for?"

"I have been commissioned to create new bookcases for your elementary school's library," Tom answered. "No more than that."

"Will they be like the ones in the library?" Matthew asked. "Because that would be awesome."

"Perhaps," Tom said. He saw that Granny's was in sight and picked up his pace. "Now get to class, Matthew."

"No," Matthew said abruptly.

Tom stopped and stared at him. "What?"

"I want to stay with you," Matthew stated. "You're cool, Mr. Hemming."

Tom blinked at him. "I, um, very well," he stammered. "I have to get breakfast, though."

"That's fine," Matthew replied. "It'd be more inconvenient if you passed out."

Tom shook his head. He went into Granny's and Matthew followed. Ruby didn't inquire what Matthew's whereabouts _ought_ to be, a habit likely developed by young Henry Mills' nearly pathological truancies.

Matthew tugged at the cuff of his school uniform while Tom ate his breakfast. "So, when are you going to teach me how to make bookcases like you do?" the boy asked.

Tom's brow furrowed and he could feel the beginnings of a puzzled frown appearing on his face. "I never said we were doing that," he began.

"Today, right? We can start today," Matthew said confidently. "Right after you finish breakfast."

"But—"

"That's okay, right? Say it's okay."

"O-okay," Tom stammered, then shook his head. "I have errands to run, Matthew. And work."

"Then we'll run the errands together and I'll help you take care of the work," Matthew replied. "Then everything is done sooner. It's simple, Mr. Hemming."

"Not that simple, Matthew."

"Why not?" Matthew jumped up. "C'mon, Mr. Hemming, let's go now."

Tom released a light sigh and shook his head. "Very well," he consented. He went over to Ruby and told her he was going to need his breakfast to go.

She glanced over at Matthew, impatiently waiting. "Kid's commandeering your day, huh?"

"You have no idea," Tom said dryly. Ruby chuckled and transferred Tom's breakfast to a takeout box and switched his tall glass of iced tea to a capped, disposable cup.

"There you go, Tom."

Tom nodded thanks and took the bag and cup, following after Matthew. Ruby watched them go and remarked to her grandmother, "You know, Granny, I hadn't even known proper interaction could be forced out of that man."

"Kids, Ruby," Granny replied. "They can do things none of us would expect possible."

* * *

Henry skidded into the sheriff's station and found Emma and Mary Margaret speaking with each other, sitting on opposite sides of the cell bars. It was a sad and wholly wrong thing to see: Snow White was the last person who deserved to be in prison, and yet there she was. Henry had to help Emma get her out.

"Henry, you should be in school," Mary Margaret said, her eyebrows lowering slightly in confusion.

"I need to talk to Emma," Henry started, and from the glance she gave him he knew the first thing Emma was going to say was _not right now, Henry_. "Last night I found out who Tom Hemming is. I tried to tell you last night, Emma, but…"

"Kathryn was murdered," Mary Margaret said heavily.

"Yeah," Henry winced. "I know it wasn't you, Mary Margaret, you would _never_ do something like what they're saying."

"Thank you, Henry," Mary Margaret said, trying to smile. "It's good to know some people still believe in me after all this."

"Henry…" Emma rose to her feet. "Look, kid, I appreciate you're coming here, but you really need to be in school. There isn't anything you can do, not for this."

"No, this is important, Emma," Henry insisted. "Tom Hemming, he's Loki. And I started looking for stuff about him because I didn't recognize the name, and he could be really bad news. He's like another Rumplestiltskin, almost."

"Henry." Emma set her hands on Henry's shoulders and held his eye. "Look, I appreciate all your help, trying to clear Mary Margaret's name, but Operation Cobra doesn't have a part to play in this. It needs to take the backseat."

"But—"

"Please, Henry," Emma said.

Henry shrunk, eyes lowering. "Okay," he murmured, and slowly walked away. He turned around after a moment and looked at Emma. "You should look up his name on the computer, though, when this is over," he said. "Loki, L-O-K-I." Humor flashed in from nowhere. "Or you could ask the assistant librarian to point out some resources."

"Yeah, okay, Henry," Emma nodded distractedly.

Henry sighed and left, ducking to hide as his mother stalked into the sheriff's station. She didn't notice him and kept walking, and Henry slipped outside unseen. Was that Mr. Gold's car parked beside Emma's? Henry wondered what was going on.

* * *

"You really think you can stand against me, snake?!" Loki snarled. His driving claw tore into the castle's stone wall, and it crumbled like dust against the Jotun's force. He spun around and saw where Rumplestiltskin had moved, and this time watched him more carefully. Any battle was trickier when teleportation was involved, and both Rumplestiltskin and Loki knew it.

"Oh dearie," Rumplestiltskin tsked, shaking his head in amusement. "I've never thought that. The real question is: do you really think you can stand against _me_, Jotun?"

Loki growled. "So you know."

Rumplestiltskin laughed. "Loki, I've always known," he replied. "I played a hand in it, myself."

"I am Asgardian," Loki spat. "The King of Asgard, the _rightful_ king."

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. "You've really become such a disillusioned fellow," he remarked. "I thought you would turn out more impressive than this."

Loki smirked. "As I'm sure Baelfire thought you would turn out more loyal."

The amused expression on Rumplestiltskin's face dropped with alarming speed. The game was over: no more tricks, no more commentary. It was time for business. Power crackling through their frames, and the two masters of magic surged towards each other.

* * *

Mowgli slipped out of bed and changed into more practical clothes without shoes. He shook the three dwellers of the hut awake, cautioning them to be silent.

"I have to go," he whispered. "I promised Bagheera. But please, won't you come with me?"

His heart leaped when they nodded. Quietly, the other three took provisions and clothing, preparing quickly. Plucking up his courage, and carrying a jar of the red flower with him, Mowgli lead them all into the jungle.

He was glad he didn't have to go alone. Good company made everything more worth the endurance. They reached Mowgli and Bagheera's meeting place, and since the panther wasn't there, Mowgli quickly searched for the map that Bagheera had promised to leave.

"How did a panther come by a map?" Amala wondered.

"Well, I can't possibly be the _only_ Man-friend Bagheera has," Mowgli said sensibly. He found the map and pulled it out, deciphering the symbols written on its surface. Abhay helpfully reached over and turned it right side up. Mowgli decided to make the best decision and handed the map to Abhay, standing in the front and leading with the jar of red flower in his hand. In the distance he could hear Shere Kahn's irate yowling—some wolf pup had missed the tiger's intended prey.

His gaze flicked to Amala and he asked if she would be able to keep up. "Of course I will," she replied certainly, and just to prove a point walked several paces ahead of him. She promptly tripped over a trailing vine and Mowgli had to help her to her feet, but she was unbothered. She had spirit, Mowgli had to give her that. She'd make a good jungle child—though he was fairly certain that her parents wouldn't be too pleased about that.

"Hello, where are you going?" an unfamiliar creature called, and Mowgli looked up as a monkey, not a particularly mad one (a relief, Mowgli didn't have the patience to deal with mad monkeys at the moment), dropped down the many branches and hung precariously overhead.

"What's he saying, Mowgli?" Amala asked.

"Oh, he wants to know where we're going," Mowgli told her. To the monkey, he said, "We're going to a haven."

"Ah, the Dark Curse," the monkey said with a nod, and introduced himself. Mowgli from this point on acted as a translator for his companions. He turned out to be quite a knowledgeable and sane monkey, who had escaped from something called a "sirkus". Mowgli had no idea what that meant but it sounded awful. The monkey, having already proven himself knowledgeable, of course knew where the haven was located.

"Do you mind if I accompany you?" he asked.

"Not at all," Mowgli replied, and the monkey dropped down onto his skinny shoulders, loosely wrapping his tail around Mowgli's neck. He peered curiously at the jar in Mowgli's hand.

"Is that the red flower?"

"Yes," Mowgli replied.

"How interesting." The monkey tried to get a better look, but Mowgli shoved its face away. The monkey wasn't offended; after the sirkus, a little shoving from another of the Jungle People wasn't such a terrible thing.

"There is no time for that now," Mowgli admonished the monkey. "We have to make it to the haven."

"When we're safe, then will you tell me about the red flower?" the monkey asked.

"I don't see why not," Mowgli replied. "Now, Abhay, which way are we going first?"

Abhay examined the map and then pointed. "That way," he said.

"Right," Mowgli said, and pushed them along. "Let's go; we've tarried too long already."

Mowgli broke into a jog and they followed after, the monkey lolloping along the ground. The journey in itself took them several days, and the perils and setbacks were many. They all were exhausted by the time they reached the edge of a clearing, wherein tents and the beginnings of huts could be seen.

And then Mowgli saw Bagheera was there, and he sprinted off like a fresh pup. Two others were with Bagheera, but that didn't matter to Mowgli, it was all about Bagheera. Mowgli could see Bagheera, everything was going to be fine now.

Then the monkey screamed "Magic!" and he looked over his shoulder and saw it, looming over the trees and devouring, terrible purple-black smoke, rushing forward. He looked at Bagheera, panicked, and ran faster, screaming Bagheera's name, but then everything as consumed by purple and Mowgli could see no more.

* * *

The battle between Loki and Rumplestiltskin became increasingly frenzied. The emerald fire engulfing Loki's fingers almost looked like lightning, so charged with power it was. The smoke engulfing them up to their knees nearly choked Loki's movement, but its master, Rumplestiltskin, moved smoother than an eel through water. He'd launch forward and shift, throwing charges of black magic at Loki, whilst Loki dodged and thrust back. Parry, dodge, parry.

Rumplestiltskin decided enough was enough and froze Loki in place again. Loki sneered within, for the spell would only hold him a moment. The imp knew his thought and grinned at him darkly. "A moment is all I need, dearie," he said, and his hand plunged into Loki's chest, reaching and digging until at last it drug out Loki's heart, big and palest red and so cold it burned.

"Heart of a Frost Giant," Rumplestiltskin remarked casually. "I had always wondered what they looked like."

Loki snarled and started for Rumplestiltskin, the binding magic already broken through, but all his foe had to do was squeeze and the prince was brought to his knees, gasping at the intense pain attacking him from within. Rumplestiltskin smirked at the grimace twisting Loki's features. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"Bastard!" Loki shouted vehemently, eyes black with hate.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled mildly. "Yes, there certainly is a bastard here, Loki, but it's not me," he reminded his captive sorcerer. He strolled back over to his desk, squeezing the heart again when Loki tried to get up. Loki sank back down again, groaning, and Rumplestiltskin tore a sheet out of his book and cast an eye over the strange words written across. Rumplestiltskin then picked up a quill, a new one bursting with unkind magic, and dipped it in ink the shade of despair.

Loki stared fearfully at the ink dripping off Rumplestiltskin's quill, and his own heart in the imp's other hand. "What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice low and without quaver.

Rumplestiltskin cast him one of his famous grins, the face of a man who always knows how to beat the game, and struck the quill into Loki's heart and drug it slowly across, forming words. Loki collapsed entirely, clutching at where his heart should have been. It felt as though he were being knifed from the inside!

"Of course, I don't have to press down _quite_ so hard," Rumplestiltskin admitted as he continued to write, his punctuations emphasized by whimpers from Loki. "But I could never let you get away with what you said about my son, could I?"

Loki, despite his pain, laughed. Because that was what he did when he was hurt, when he was betrayed: he laughed, he smiled, he continued smoothly on. "Baelfire," he rasped. "I know where he is."

"So do I," Rumplestiltskin replied.

"No, I mean I've been there," Loki told him, a psychotic grin twisting his features. "Many times, to your realm without magic. I've spoken to him on occasion."

Rumplestiltskin stopped writing—oh such relief!—and turned, staring at Loki. "How?"

Loki's grin stretched further somehow. It looked unnatural, his thin lips spread so far they were nonexistent. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Rumplestiltskin didn't hesitate a moment and his fingers pierced into Loki's heart with a viciousness that sent him screaming to the floor. "Answer my question," he said softly, his tone deadly.

"I'll—_never_—"

Rumplestiltskin's claws went in deeper.

"_Augh!_ What's the point, vermin? You can't use it anywa_aaaah!_"

"HOW DID YOU FIND MY SON?" Rumplestiltskin snarled, pointed nails mangling the heart in his clenching fist.

"The panthers' gateway!" Loki screamed. "The only way out of here to there is the panthers' gateway, I swear that all I know _ohgodspleasestoppleasestopiv etoldyoualliknowPLEASE!_"

Rumplestiltskin's clutches released, and Loki sobbed in relief. His shaking hand went up to remove his pain-induced tears.

"I-I know you can't get through there," he said weakly. "The panthers' magic is stronger than yours. You may be powerful, Rumplestiltskin, but you cannot match the ancient."

Rumplestiltskin did not answer but went back to his writing, eliciting the occasional whimper from Loki.

"I had thought we were friends, Rumplestiltskin," Loki said softly, his voice made weak with betrayal.

Rumplestiltskin smiled down at him kindly, belying the tortuously glowing heart in his hand. "Oh, Loki, we still are friends," he replied. "This is just business."

* * *

Matthew snuck in through the backdoor of the house and quietly slipped upstairs to his bedroom. If he made it look like he had been studying all this time and hadn't missed curfew, maybe his dad wouldn't be so angry.

All possibilities of even being noticed at all went out the window, however, when his parents' argument reached fighting status, their enraged shouts and curses filling the house. Matthew threw his backpack on the floor and sat with his back against the door, his hands covering his ears as he tried to block out his mother's screams and his father's hollers.

He hated nights like this, hated them more than anything in the world. He'd rather take a thousand beltings, _every day_, than have to listen to his parents fight ever again. But when it came to the fury they invoked in each other, Matthew felt helpless.

He wondered if it was his fault.

Sadly, Matthew pulled out his iPod and tried to put it up high enough to block out his parents' fury, and set out his homework, telling himself he needed to focus and get it taken care of. He had spent the whole day with Mr. Hemming, he needed to be responsible now. Maybe Dad would like that. Maybe.

_"No, I'm not alright_

_I know that I'm not right_

_It feels like I travel but I never arrive_

_I want to thrive, not just survive."_

Matthew gave up and buried his face in his hands, sobbing. This had to be all his fault. Things never used to be this way. It was his fault.

* * *

Balder realized that he was crying when he sank to the ground. He gazed into the eyes of the one he had come to speak with, his expression pleading and desperate. "I—I don't know what to do, Bagheera!" he cried to his friend. "What Thor's friends have told me, that my own brother, Loki, is a Frost Giant and evil besides…" He shook his head mournfully. "You said that he dances with shadows, but this? I just don't know."

Bagheera said nothing, seeming to have decided to sit back and wait for Balder to continue. He released a shaky sigh, trying to curb his sense of utter lostness, but then snapped.

"This is too much, I don't know what to do," he sobbed. "Help me, Bagheera! I thought I had already lost everyone I loved, but now I've lost my brothers, too."

Bagheera didn't reply. How could he? He was a statue, just like all the other lost souls surrounding him.


	9. Caroling, Caroling

**_Author's notes:_**_ I know it's late, but here, have some Christmas fluffies (that I'll probably delete later on, I dunno)._

_And now for something completely out of character… well, it _is_ Christmas. And hey, this is a way for me to share some of my favorite Christmas songs with you! :-)_

_Though… a few of them may have been altered. ;-)_

**_Warnings:_**_ psh, it's Christmas._

* * *

Tom could not help his yawn as he stepped outside on the frozen December morning. Matthew swept up, somehow jumped high enough to plant a red hat with fluffy white trimmings on Tom's head, then promptly began to drag the startled assistant librarian away.

"Wait—Matthew—what's happening!"

"It's Christmas, Mr. Hemming!" Matthew called back. He gleefully ran up the hood of a black car and set his feet firmly, belting out in a loud voice:

_It's the most wonderful time of the year!_

_With the kids jingle belling_

_And everyone telling you "Be of good cheer!"_

_It's the most wonderful time of the year!_

"Matthew. What are you doing?"

_It's the hap-happiest season of all!_

_With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings_

_When friends come to call_

_It's the hap-happiest season of all!_

"Matthew, people are staring."

_There'll be parties for hosting_

_Marshmallows for toasting_

_And caroling out in the sn—_

"Excuse me, young man."

Matthew stopped and blinked down at Regina Mills. The mayor was not in the least amused. "I do believe that is my car you are standing on," she said flatly.

"Oh." Matthew turned red. "Sorry."

Tom jerked him down, murmuring an apology to Regina as they hurried away. "Matthew, what has gotten into you?" he hissed.

"I dunno," Matthew replied. "I just have this wild urge to sing Christmas carols, y'know?"

"No," Tom replied. "No, I don't know."

* * *

Fandral plucked at the strings of the guitar he had managed to find. Volstagg hummed deep in his throat while Sif supplied higher, echoing notes. Balder came sliding in at the last moment.

_The search is on_

_Takes work and more_

_We've got to find_

_The cure for Thor_

_._

_Simply having a wonderful questing time_

_Simply having a wonderful questing time_

_._

_I've heard it said_

_My brother's mad_

_The other one's stone_

_And that's real bad_

_._

_Simply having a wonderful questing time_

_Simply having a wonderful questing time_

Hogun returned with an armload of wood and stared incredulously. "Why are you _singing_?" he demanded.

Fandral chucked the guitar and Balder snuck away. "We weren't singing."

Hogun frowned. "Hm."

* * *

Loki and Rumplestiltskin stood side by side, simultaneously donning red Christmas caps. Opening a pair of caroling books, they began.

_Hark! the herald tricksters sing_

_Let's put coal in your stocking_

_Fun on earth and mischief wild_

_Gods or tricksters—_

They exchanged looks. "No, this is far too strict, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said, his frown disapproving.

"My thoughts exactly," Loki replied. They tossed the caroling books and changed the record, jiving to the new sound. Loki went first, pushing his deepest, Odin-like voice while Rumplestiltskin supplied tuneful _doop-doop, doop doo-doop_s in the background.

_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_

_Just like the ones I used to know_

_Where those treetops glisten, and children listen_

_To hear sleigh bells in the snow._

Loki stepped aside to allow Rumplestiltskin in, where the man took full advantage of his position as tenor.

_Then I-I-I am dreaming of a white Christmas_

_With every Christmas card I write_

_May your days, may your days, may your days be merry and bright_

_And may all your Christmases be white._

Loki and Rumplestiltskin slapped high fives. "Right," said Loki. "Let's go kill some geese."

* * *

Mary Margaret beckoned everyone gather. "Okay, we're almost here. Almost… there." She smiled, her pleased laughter producing a jet of steam in the nighttime air. It had been quite a feat, getting every Storybrooker into one place, but she had done it.

In a few moments everyone was organized, and Mary Margaret pointed to the first ladies (Ruby, Granny, Emma, and Regina) and lead them into the song with her own voice.

_Hark! how the bells, sweet silver bells_

_All seem to say "Throw cares away."_

She gestured to the rest, and they joined each in turn, an ocean of voices blending into a beautiful sound.

_Christmas is here, bringing good cheer_

_To young and old, meek and the bold_

Matthew missed the next few lines as he elbowed Tom in the ribs. "_Sing,_" he whispered.

Tom frowned at him. Matthew elbowed harder. The assistant librarian released a light sigh and finally became part of the choir.

_One seems to hear words of good cheer_

_From ev'rywhere, filling the air_

_O how they o pound, raising the sound!_

_O'er hill and dale_

_Telling their tale_

_Gaily they ring, while people sing_

_Songs of the cheer, Christmas is here_

_._

_Merry merry merry merry Christmas_

_Merry merry merry merry Christmas_

_._

_On, on they send_

_On without end_

_Their joyful tone_

_To ev'ry home_

Matthew noticed Tom had dropped off again and stomped on his foot. "For Pete's sake, Mr. Hemming, get in the _spirit!_" he muttered.

Tom glared at him and sang the last notes with pointed exaggeration.

_Ding, dong, ding, dong_

Tom stuck out his tongue. Matthew grinned back. Storybrooke applauded itself.


	10. Chapter 9

_**Author's notes:** back again at last! Editing decided to be an imperial pain in the neck. But hurrah, we are back online, and Balder's horse finally has a name! Which is important._

_(by the way, your Story Alerts will list this as chapter 10 when it's actually chapter 9, because of the Christmas silly. It doesn't really count as a chapter, so isn't numbered. Now you know!)  
_

_**Warnings:** some torture and suggested abuse.  
_

* * *

"Who was it?" Loki demanded, restraining the urge to lunge at the imp's throat. "Who made the deal?"

"Oh, that I can't tell you, dearie," Rumplestiltskin replied, scratching a few more letters into Loki's heart and pausing. "Not for free, anyway, and you don't have anything I want." Not true, but Rumplestiltskin knew that Loki wouldn't give it to him yet. He wasn't quite desperate enough.

"What is this supposed to accomplish, Rumplestiltskin?" Loki asked, his eyes narrowed into hateful green slits. He flinched occasionally as Rumplestiltskin carved the quill through his heart.

"Someone wants you rendered harmless," Rumplestiltskin answered. "A tricky thing with a creature such as you, but doable." He set the quill aside and turned Loki's heart around in his hands, examining carefully. He nodded proudly at his handiwork. "There. Perfect."

Loki stared at his pulsing heart suspiciously, wondering what Rumplestiltskin's plans were. The imp perused the organ resting in his palms a moment longer, then added, "This is only half the work, however. The rest will come with time—thirty years or so."

Loki cast a derisive glance about the interior of the cage Rumplestiltskin had formed around him. "You're just going to leave me here?" he scoffed. "Good luck with that."

"I don't need luck," Rumplestiltskin replied with sass. "I have magic." Reaching through the bars, he roughly shoved Loki's heart back where it belonged. The Asgardian lurched backwards with a gasp and regarded Rumplestiltskin warily. What was the point in taking a heart if he was only going to return it later?

No matter. Escaping this makeshift cage would be disappointingly simple. With a whisper of thought, Loki summoned magic through his being and directed it toward the bars that would entrap him. He did not expect the pain that burst inside his chest, so intense he nearly lost conscious. Staggering, he fell back against the metal bars and gripped them with his pale fingers.

"_What have you done?_" he howled.

"Part of the deal," Rumplestiltskin replied, his scaly face expressionless. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to meet with a young Cinderella about a deal we made. She's agreed to make payment." He chuckled. "Or so she would have me believe."

He turned away, placing the quill back in its inkwell.

"How long do you intend to keep me here?" Loki rasped. His defiance had faded. Finally, finally he had realized he was beat, and entirely at the mercies of this sadistic little creature.

"You must have ascertained that yourself," Rumplestiltskin responded. "Thirty years. A little less, perhaps, if things go better than I planned. Not a very long time, surely, for a Jotun like you." He grinned at Loki, and with his keening giggle vanished.

Loki screamed furiously, battering his hands against the bars until they bled, and even then he did not halt. He became something like a wild animal, blinded with panic as it sought a way out of its cage. It was hours before Loki gave up, sinking to the floor with a little sob. He leaned into the cage's furthest corner, curling into a ball of despair.

God of Lies, indeed. Now he had walked into a trap that was surely intended to be eternal. Such was the treachery of making friends.

* * *

Tom was beginning to get into the habit of setting his folded blanket in Madge's reading corner. Just as he was getting into the habit of calling it Madge's reading corner. She came in just as Tom was leaving, but this time she was accompanied by a woman who looked very much like her. Madge greeted Tom with enthusiasm, obviously having remembered him. "Hi, Mr. Hemming!"

"Hello, Madge," Tom replied coolly. He glanced at the woman with her for a moment before averting his attention. "You are Mrs. Lykke, I presume."

"I am," Mrs. Lykke confirmed. Her voice was just as hard as Tom had expected. "And you are?"

Tom shrank under her flinty gaze. "Hemming," he struggled to reply. "Tom Hemming. I am assistant to the librarian here, Lillian Williams."

"Williams," Mrs. Lykke repeated, and Tom did not approve of the disdain in her voice. "Peculiar woman. One never knows what strangeness goes on in her head."

Tom frowned but said nothing, as was his tendency. Mrs. Lykke inquired where Lillian was, and he told her that she was sorting the returned books—an staff-only area. Whether or not this was true Tom didn't care; he just didn't want this icy woman anywhere near his boss. Lillian could break her code of kindliness, or something equally catastrophic.

"That's too bad," Madge said. "I wanted to ask her something, but maybe you know. Mr. Hemming, is there a way to extend book checkouts? I know the period is a week, but there are a few books I want to take with me and I don't think I'll be able to finish them that quickly. Could it be extended to two weeks?"

"Perhaps," Tom answered. "Though if I may inquire why?"

"That is none of your business," Mrs. Lykke said sharply. She didn't see Madge's irritated expression.

"I'm really sick, basically," Madge said briskly. "Cancer, it sucks. Mom, you've got the book list, maybe Mr. Hemming can help us find what we're looking for?"

"Cancer?" Tom echoed quietly, giving Madge a concerned look. This would certainly explain the girl's pallor.

"We don't want your pity, Mr. Hemming," Mrs. Lykke said sharply. She thrust a neatly folded paper into his hand. "These are the books we're looking for."

Pity? Mrs. Lykke was about as piteous as a charging bull. Tom unfolded the paper and murmured a quiet "This way" as he started walking through the familiar aisles of the library. One of the various perks of living here; he knew where every book belonged. The last time he'd had to consult a directory was three years ago.

"We really appreciate your help, Mr. Hemming," Madge said. Evidently she was trying to make her mother seem courteous as well.

"No more than what ought to be done," Tom replied, trying to dismiss the matter. He helped her find the books she was looking for (he noticed her force a halt at six, and appreciated finding another book lover as he), and brought them to the checkout counter.

Madge took note of one of the books amongst the stack of recent returns. "Ooh, _Lord of the Rings_," she said happily. "I haven't read these in a year. They're good!"

Tom cast a curious look at the book that had drawn her attention, _The Return of the King_. "Really?" he queried. "I haven't read them, myself."

"They're the best books in the world!" Madge exclaimed with fervor. "Well, and _The Chronicles of Narnia_. But you've gotta read Mr. Tolkien's stuff, trust me. You'll love it."

Tom finished checking out the books and transferred them to a bag. "If you are willing to give me your library card and wait another moment, I shall see if I can extend your checkout period," he offered.

"Thanks, that would be great." Madge smiled, and her mother frowned.

They waited in silence as Tom's gaze flicked between the books, the library card in his hand, and the flickering monitor screen. They really needed to get a new one. He nodded. "All tended to, Miss Madge," he said, returning her card. "Two weeks from now those books are due."

"Thanks, Mr. Hemming!" Madge stepped aside as her mother took the bag of books. "You're the best."

"Hey, Madge?" Tom hesitated, then completed his question. "Would you like me to bring you new books every week or so? I can return your finished ones for you, if you like."

Madge stared at him, and Tom's gaze turned uncertain. "You… you would do that?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"If that's what you would like," Tom said. He wasn't so sure anymore that this had been a good idea.

Madge nodded, a bright smile on her face as her mother took her hand and led her away. "Yeah, yeah that would be great," she said. "I'm in room 217, on the second floor. A nurse can get you there." She and her mother left, and Tom stood behind the checkout counter a little longer than he had intended. He shook himself out of his temporary trance and went back to work.

* * *

Balder rejoined the Warriors Three and Lady Sif half an hour later. His eyes were red from tears shed, yet glinted with determination. The other Asgardians looked at him solemnly.

"What are you going to do?" Volstagg asked.

"I had thought the Curse over this land had taken everyone I loved," Balder answered. "Now it has taken my brother as well." His eyes flashed. "I say _no more_."

A smile stole to Volstagg's face. Fandral's eyes widened at the deep ferocity Balder now displayed, a rage for the sake of his kin. Hogun nodded in approval. Sif looked satisfied.

"And what is your plan?" the warrioress asked.

Balder's gaze flicked to Volstagg, for whom he seemed to have developed the deepest respect. "I have an idea," he said. "Rumplestiltskin's castle is still here, even if he is not. Although he, at least, took most of his belongings with him, if there is a way to free Thor and the other creatures of this realm from Stonebreath's curse, the Dark Castle is the first place to look."

"And if what we seek is not there?" Hogun queried.

"Then I do not know," Balder replied honestly. "We find a way to continue Thor's quest on our own." It wouldn't be the first time Balder had to do as such. He found himself thinking of Bagheera, and forced himself to focus again on the matter at hand.

"How far is it to this Dark Castle?' Fandral asked.

"Not far, only a few days' ride," Sif replied, and Balder looked at her in surprise. When had she been to this realm? Sif stared back. "I've seen the maps," she explained.

Balder realized they were looking to him. So it was true: no matter your age, if the title _Odinson_ was attached to your name, people followed your lead.

"Yes, it is as she says," he confirmed. "We would reach the castle in four days' time, if we travel swift."

"Excellent!" Fandral exclaimed. "What do we need to collect for the journey?"

"Nothing but yourselves," Balder replied. "I can see from your horses' packs that you prepared for a long journey, so nothing additional is required. And I have already set Skjótr for questing. Each of us has our weapons and cloaks. We are ready and there is nothing to keep us. Therefore, let us depart."

Balder swung up onto his stallion's back and Skjótr pawed the grass impatiently. The other Asgardians released individual whistles or cries for their horses. The masterful beasts did not take long to join them, chestnut and gray beauties of Asgard. Skjótr's mournful brother, Thor's steed Sigr, trotted up to them but seemed to know that he would not be coming with.

"Ah, Sigr," Volstagg murmured as he stroked the horse's muzzle. "Watch after Thor for us, will you?"

The white horse whickered mournfully, its brown eyes solemn, and turned away. Returning to where it knew Thor to be. Balder instructed a friend of his to see that Sigr was left alone—he knew from experience that if the horse deemed itself to be disturbed, it would kick and bite as badly as its master.

Soon each Asgardian was set in their saddle. Balder turned Skjótr with a gentle pull of the reins, and was again surprised when Thor's comrades followed after him without hesitation. Lancelot stopped the group as they rode out, wanting to know where they were going, and Balder told him it was a quest, searching for a key. It was a vague enough reply that wouldn't justify a demand for reiteration. He wasn't surprised that Lancelot did not press.

"You don't trust him," Volstagg observed after they had left the haven.

"I don't know him," Balder replied, glancing back in the direction that they had come. "But I should." He didn't say anything more, promising to explain at a later. He tapped his heels into Skótr's sides and rode securely as the grey joyfully galloped forward, fellow horses of Asgard chasing after.

Sif had her mind on other things as time progressed. They were riding to the Dark Castle of Rumplestiltskin. It would not be long before she knew her whereabouts and could use the gateways the panther Bagheera had shown her. He said that they had a way taking one where they needed to be (or the exact opposite, but Sif wasn't going to think of that), and if that was truly so, it would bring her to Rumplestiltskin. She had to change the deal before the others learned of her treachery.

That night, Sif kept her eyes fixed upon the stars, trying to orient herself.

* * *

Tom realized it was nearly time for school to be released, an ideal time for him to leave and install his first new bookcase for the school's library. It had been different, designing a bookcase that fit together piece by piece rather than carving it out and inserting the shelves. Tom preferred that method, there was something more personal to it, but for the school he had to be practical.

With Lillian's permission, he packed two large satchels with tools and the bookcase and left work early, arriving at the school a few minutes after the last bus. The bell sounded and out streamed the children. It took Matthew about three seconds to spot Tom. "Mr. Hemming!" he exclaimed, his expression bright enough to rival a star.

Tom nodded in response. "Hello, Matthew," he said, and staggered back when Matthew slammed into him with a powerful hug. Tom didn't return the embrace, but neither could he escape it. He bent over to pick up his dropped satchels but instead found himself turning Matthew's chin with his hand, giving him a hard stare.

"Matthew, what's this?" he asked, fingers barely touching the bruise across half of Matthew's jaw.

"Oh, it's just…" Something flashed through Matthew's eyes, a return of the melancholy Tom had once thought to be the boy's main trait. "I fell down the stairs, Mr. Hemming," Matthew said quickly. "I was still kinda sleepy and I missed the step. It happens, you know?"

Tom kept staring at Matthew. The boy wouldn't meet his eyes, and typically it was the other way around. "Hey, have I ever told you my last name?" Matthew asked suddenly, changing the subject. "Frog, it's kinda gross. It works because I'm so skinny. Mom never gives me a chance at slimy, though. Are we going back to the library, Mr. Hemming? Or are you going to do something here? Can I help you? Can we go to the library afterward?"

Tom nodded and permitted the boy to join him. All the while he wondered about the bruise.

* * *

When Sif opened her eyes to the grey dawn, Balder was in the same position he had been in when she had fallen asleep: upright with legs folded, drawn sword placed across his knees while his hand rested upon the hilt. Who knew how he had ever fallen asleep in that position, or how he still seemed to be sleeping, but he had done it. How queer.

Sif's dreams the previous night had not been pleasant; haunted by a nimble figure who danced always out of Sif's reach while choking her with a long black braid, never ceasing its cackle of _won't be long, won't be long, your treachery will be known._ It hadn't mattered that Sif had protested, cried that what she had done had been _for_ Asgard, not against it.

But it was a dream. It wasn't supposed to matter. Sif shook her head to put the clinging remnants of darkness from her mind, and froze when Balder spoke, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"Your murmurings made it difficult to rest."

"I do not know what you speak of," Sif replied, her voice quiet but still hard.

Balder's eyes were closed, fingers sliding over the familiar surface of his blade. "You kept insisting that you weren't a traitor, that you were trying to help, that you only wanted Asgard protected," he said. His eyes opened and he shot a piercing gaze upon her. "I should like to know what you meant by that."

"It was only a dream, Balder," Sif answered. "It is nothing of consequence."

"Then why do you evade my inquiry?" Balder pressed. Sif's lips formed a thin line and she glared at him. Balder stared back and then looked away, his eyes misting. "You are so defiant. A man's will does nothing to bind you," he murmured, seeming to echo words he had spoken long ago.

After that, Balder left her alone. But Sif was uncertain as to whether that was a good thing or not. The young Odinson rose and walked away, going to a widespread oak and climbing up. Likely he was getting a stronger understanding of their position. Sif shook the other Asgardians awake.

They ate breakfast, Balder saying nothing but which direction they were going, Volstagg did not fail to catch that something was amiss, but both Sif and Balder told him that nothing was wrong. They saddled their horses again and rode out after Balder's lead.

* * *

By the time the sun sank down, Tom was questioning whether it had been such a great idea to take Matthew on as a pupil. Granted, it hadn't really been his own idea, but he had still agreed with it. Now he felt completely exhausted, and there was still plenty left to do.

Yet, despite the tiredness weighing down his bones, Tom felt… happy. He thought this was happiness. He wasn't sure why he was feeling it. In fact, this strange thing he thought might be happiness had been following him since yesterday.

He would dwell on it later. Now he helped Matthew put the tools back in place and they admired their handiwork; for Matthew, a wooden block with cat's eyes and other feline features, down to the powerful shoulders; and for Tom, a finished shelf for the school library's second new bookcase.

The assistant librarian shooed Matthew from the woodshop and sent him home.

* * *

The quintet of Asgardians gazed up apprehensively at the looming gates of Rumplestiltskin's castle. A mournful wind whistled its way through cracks between the stones, and Balder wondered if without Rumplestiltskin's magic, the grand place was just falling apart.

A foreboding thought for someone about to walk into said castle. "Well, nothing for it," said Fandral. He sprang down from his horse and pushed the doors open, aided by Volstagg. Everyone else dismounted and left their horses to graze outside, though Skjótr raised his head to watch as the Asgardians went inside.

The warriors held their weapons at the ready and cautiously advanced, eyes casting warily about. Sif's first step onto a staircase crumbled beneath her and she jumped quickly back, caught by Hogun.

"Let us see what there is on this level first," Hogun said.

"Yes, an excellent suggestion, Hogun," Balder agreed. "Sif, you come with me, and Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral, you are a group also. Sif and I shall search this level to the east and you to the west."

"That seems fair to me," Volstagg nodded. His group parted from Balder, and they began their search. Balder and Sif turned their own direction, but Sif didn't walk.

"I had been gaining an impression that you do not trust me," Sif said bluntly.

"I don't trust you," Balder replied simply, and a sharp smile flashed across his face. "That's why I'm keeping an eye on you."

Sif frowned, and kept Balder's stride. They found several cellars and searched them as well (but no dungeons, strangely enough. Balder would have thought that more than half of Rumplestiltskin's castle would be dungeons), and when they got back they found that Hogun's group had done the same.

"Nothing of value here," Hogun told them.

"There are a lot of roses, though," Fandral observed. "Red roses."

"There was a rumor," Balder mused. "Of a woman whom Rumplestiltskin loved…" He shook his head. "But that is of no matter now. To the next level."

They carefully made their way up the stairs, several of the steps disintegrating beneath them. The second, third, and fourth levels also yielded nothing. Then Sif found a mostly rotted wooden staircase leading up into a small tower.

"So, which of us first?" Balder asked. Sif started forward and he firmly pushed her back. "That was rhetorical." He sheathed his sword, for he wanted the best balance, and gingerly made his way up the steps, Sif close behind. Ten feet up, the rotted planks started giving away entirely, and Balder and Sif had to jump from one snapped step to the next until Balder could finally throw himself through a detiorating door while Sif grabbed his ankles.

Balder landed amidst the damp splinters and scrabbled for a hold so Sif wouldn't fall as well. "Have you a grip?" Sif demanded.

"I'm quite well, thank you for your concern," Balder grunted. "Give me a moment." He held the frame of the door securely and slowly drug himself into the tower room until Sif could reach the bottom frame and pull herself in.

"Are you alright?" Balder asked her.

She nodded. "I seem to have lost my wind somewhat, however," she panted. She looked over her shoulder. "How shall we get back down? It is at least twenty yards."

"I suppose we'll jump," Balder said off-handedly. "Now, let's see what is in here." He and Sif each rose to their feet and took stock of their surroundings.

The room they were in was round, and there were a great number of books and strange-looking artifacts. Balder had the feeling that what they were searching for had been right here in this room the entire time. Sif picked up a book and glanced over at Balder questioningly, as though to ask how they were to know which was the item they were looking for.

"I don't know," Balder told her. "But we shall understand when we see. Read the titles," he added, and began perusing through the overfull shelves. He picked up many a book but could not see anything of value. On the other side of the room, Sif was having no better luck.

Balder opened another book, bearing neither title nor embellishment upon the red leather cover, and lifted an eyebrow. This book was written by no scribe, the amount of gibberish testified to that. It was a personal item, full of information and thoughts privy to one mind. Could this be the journal of Rumplestiltskin?

Sif stepped up behind Balder and stopped him from turning the page. "That stone lion," she said. "It is in this room." She looked around for a moment before returning with a stone statuette in her hand. Balder nodded as it was confirmed the statuette and the sketch were the same.

"Yet this is only a picture," Balder said. "The information must be on the other page." He started turning the pages, but accidentally went a few too many. As he quickly turned back Sif caught sight of the titular word _Deals_, and in the list below her own name.

Her blood froze. They were going to find out. Sif had run out of time.

"I'll let the others know we've found something," she told Balder, and handed the statuette to him. She backed out of the room, carefully got back down by jumping from wall to wall, and sought out the others. "Balder wants you," she said. "He has found what we are looking for."

They rushed off. Balder didn't respond when Fandral called from below: "Balder! Have you got it?"

Balder's gaze fixed on the statuette in his hand, a roaring lion with its clawed paw poised to strike. Fandral called again, and Balder was snapped out of his daze. Fumbling, he stuffed the stone lion into the empty satchel at his side, then carefully wrapped the weathered book and did the same. He popped his head through the obliterated door.

The Warriors Three looked back up at him. "Did you find anything?" Volstagg asked.

"Yes," Balder called in reply. "Yes, I've found what we're looking for. Volstagg, catch and be gentle!" He dropped the satchel down to the other Asgardian's waiting hands, then jumped down himself, bending his knees and rolling with the impact.

"Ow, ow, ow," he groaned from the floor, slowly getting back up to his feet and taking the satchel back from Volstagg.

"What did you find?" Fandral asked.

Balder flashed a grin at him, the first sign of happiness they'd seen since this quest had begun. "Everything we have sought," he said. He gently tapped his satchel. "Thor shall be free again." He stopped and his brow furrowed. "Where's Sif?"

"We thought she had returned to you," Fandral said.

"She told me she was retrieving you," Balder replied. He looked to Volstagg, alarm spreading across his face. "To the horses. We need to get back to the horses, now."

They sped down the collapsing flights of stairs and burst out the gates they had so cautiously entered through. Sif's horse was gone, and the others undisturbed.

"Mount!" Balder barked, calling sharply to Skjótr.

"Why would she leave?" Fandral wondered, inserting his boot into the stirrup and swinging onto his horse's back.

"It doesn't matter," Balder snarled, and all could hear the worry in his voice. "This realm has seen the addition of many new monsters, and not all of them can be slain. If we do not bring her back into the security of fortitude she shall die."

Skjótr performed an acute turn at Balder's command and they galloped away. Up at the ridge they all turned at the roaring behind them and watched in silence as Rumplestiltskin's castle crumbled in on itself. Balder placed a light hand on his satchel and breathed a word of thanks that he had found the book in time. They turned around and galloped after Sif's trail.


	11. Chapter 10

_**Author's notes:** It's times like these when I'm certain that if Lady Sif could jump out of my computer screen and kill me, she would do it right now. Welp. On another note, we have another character entering the ensemble! :D A character who, incidentally, was not part of the plan but what can ya do?_

_**Warnings:** suggestions of abuse, depression, and suicide. More of the trademark Odinson Anger Issues.  
_

* * *

Tom found himself walking Matthew to school, since Matthew had abruptly appeared at the diner and told him that was what he was going to do. Tom hadn't argued, resignedly polishing off his breakfast and grabbing a tea to go.

"Hey, do you like soccer?" Matthew asked. He was holding the appropriate ball for the sport in his hands. Tom noticed the boy's bruise was already half-faded from the day before.

"Yes, I used to play football quite a lot when I was a boy," Tom replied, surprised to recall that there had been something he'd enjoyed as a child. Always alone he had enjoyed it, but Matthew didn't need to know that.

It was on this vein that the conversation began, and Tom learned that Matthew didn't have as few friends as he had initially thought, being a rambunctious boy at school despite his multitude of allergies. "They're not too serious," Matthew said dismissively. "It's just the animal ones that are really bad." Tom gained the impression that Matthew wouldn't have minded a deathly allergy to anything but an animal. Was this sympathy stirring inside of him?

Tom felt curiously relieved to know that Matthew enjoyed school, and the friends he had there. He had often wondered how the boy was faring, for now whenever he thought Tom wasn't looking, Matthew fell into bouts of depression. He always brightened when he saw Tom however, and Tom wondered.

Matthew was not an unintelligent boy, either, for he was nearly an entire grade ahead in his studies. He would be turning ten in another few weeks, he announced proudly, and told Tom that he had been wanting a camping party for five years.

"Maybe this'll be the year!" he exclaimed hopefully.

They reached the school perhaps a minute or two after the first buses did, and while they waded amongst the elementary schoolers, Tom got several wary looks from the other children, who forced themselves to quiet at the sight of an unfamiliar and solemn-looking adult. Tom and Matthew exchanged looks, for of course Matthew had noticed too, and the boy dropped his soccer ball to the pavement and kicked it to Tom, who smoothly navigated his foot and kicked lightly back.

The children instinctively cleared a pace, and some of the other boys and girls joined in, either knowing soccer already or just wanting to kick a ball around. There were cheers and some laughter, and one boy looked over at Tom, who had realized he was smiling, and asked who he was.

"Mr. Hemming," he replied. "I'm the assistant librarian."

"You're a cool librarian," the boy said in surprise.

Tom grinned at him and winked. "That's because I'm from a cool library," he replied. "You should come visit sometime." A girl had kicked the ball particularly high, and Tom hit it with his forehead and sent it to Matthew, who caught it with his hands and regretfully informed everyone he had to put it away because it was almost time for classes to begin.

Tom turned to go, but paused when the boy he'd spoken to called his name. "You could come by again, Mr. Hemming," he offered. "We like to play soccer and stuff at the school park after classes." The other children chorused agreement, and Tom blinked at them in surprise. No one had ever _wanted_ him around.

"I… yes," he said, nodding, and his voice was husky. "I'll be here."

"Cool!" the boy exclaimed, and went with the rest of his schoolmates to class. Matthew grinned at Tom proudly as though to say _yep, that's _my_ friend_ and disappeared within the school building. Tom stood outside the school for while, blinking in surprise, and after a while he realized he was crying. Hurriedly he went back to the library, empty cup of tea clenched in his tattooed hand.

* * *

Regina angrily chased the useless Sidney Glass from her office and stood at her desk, teeth clenching in fury as her fingers tried to dig through the polished wood. She noticed the time and grabbed her coat and purse, heels clicking as she strode out to pick up Henry from school.

She pulled into the parking lot and saw Henry talking to Hemming, who was carrying a number of neatly carved and finished shelves. Hemming smiled reservedly and nodded agreement to something Henry said, and Henry regarded the man with an intense curiosity, as if he wanted to learn everything about him.

This was not okay. This was not okay _at all_. Regina slammed the door as she got out of the car and removed Henry from the stranger's reach. Henry reluctantly went to the car and Regina leveled a look of pure wrath upon Hemming.

"Mr. Hemming, I will tell you this only once, so I will make it exceptionally clear," she said, her voice dripping poison. "Stay away from my son. If you do not, I can assure you that I will see your end. Do you understand?"

Hemming nodded, cowed. "Of course, Mayor Mills," he replied, voice bearing a satisfying waver. "I was unaware that your son was not to be approached. I shall not forget."

"Good," Regina growled, and stalked away. Hemming sighed nervously and went into the school building to install the shelves.

Henry began to protest that Hemming was harmless and Regina quickly cut him off, firmly telling him that for his own safety, he wasn't to speak to Hemming again under any circumstances. It wasn't until Henry fled from her presence and retreated into his room, slamming the door behind him, that Regina realized she had spoken too harshly. She closed her eyes and cursed her mother.

Regina paced the entryway of her house, debating her next course of action. Sidney had proven thoroughly useless, the only area he had been proving valuable was keeping tabs on Emma Swan. Regina herself couldn't find anything, and there was no one else who could explain Hemming's identity to her.

Except for Gold. Gritting her teeth, Regina left her house and went back out to her car, reluctantly inserting her key and turning it to activate the ignition. She pulled out of the driveway and headed for Mr. Gold's shop.

* * *

Jefferson stood at his telescope, peering through and looking after, in his own lonely way, his daughter Grace. _Paige_ was the false name Regina had given her here. And _Paige_ was the daughter of another man, part of another family, with no memory of her real father's face. It hurt, it hurt even worse than when Jefferson had lost his wife, due to his own wild and selfish ways, but what could he do?

At least… at least she was happy. Happy in a lie, but happy. All things considered, Regina could have given his daughter a lot worse. When the Queen had left him in Wonderland to die, Jefferson had thought he would never see his dear Grace's face again.

He was lucky. He had to remind himself of that, every time the despair threatened to kill him, every time his fingers wrapped around a gun's cool handle. He was lucky.

Grace was at school now, saying hello to her friends—Jefferson knew them all by their false names, and some by their real ones—and then she ran across the schoolyard at the beckoning of a friend. They appeared to be introducing her to someone.

Well. He was new. Tall and dark-haired, a man carrying a stack of shelves seemed to be at the center of the small throng of children. He seemed to like them, in a quiet way, and going by the grins and laughter of the children, the feeling was mutual. There was something familiar about the man. If one were to put him in more imperial dress, perhaps, and gave his eyes a more bright and mischievous look…

Jefferson chuckled, eyes crinkling as the once-sorcerer separated from the group of children and continued on. He was interrupted by a boy. "Hello, Prince Loki," Jefferson greeted his old friend from afar. "Didn't notice Regina brought you here, too."

Speaking of Regina, the woman herself soon marched up to Loki and confronted him, the reason naturally being the boy she was so possessive of, the Savior's offspring. Loki shrank beneath her hostile gaze and Jefferson burst out laughing, tumbling backwards.

"Oh Regina, if he knew who he was, he would squash you like an insect!" Putting his eye back to the telescope, he added, "And you would deserve it."

He made sure Grace got to class safe, and watched Loki during the time she was at school. He worked at the library, with an elderly woman Jefferson had thought to be retired. Change in Storybrooke, that had to be a good sign.

He watched Regina as well during the few times she interacted with the seriously intimidated Loki. Jefferson was still getting a kick out of that, but now his focus was Regina. She was tense, hostile, somewhat like she was with Emma Swan. And Jefferson realized: she didn't know him. Loki, sorcerer prince of Asgard, was in her town and she had no clue who he was.

Now that was fascinating.

After making certain Grace got home alright, Jefferson left his telescope and went to searching. He had a new file in need of compilation now, and it was time he learned just what Loki was up to on Earth.

* * *

It was after nightfall and the warriors still hadn't stopped running. Volstagg urged his horse to catch up with Balder's, and the valiant beast obeyed despite its exhaustion. "Balder, we have to stop," Volstagg told the young Odinson, whose face was set in grim determination. "It is past nightfall and the horses are nearly dead on their feet."

Balder hesitated, looking down and seeming to notice for the first time the sweat steaming off his horse's body. Immediately he reined the stallion in, and the others gratefully followed suit. They pulled off the saddles and packs from their steeds and constructed a quick camp, Fandral coaxing a fire into existence while Hogun silently disappeared to hunt. Balder and Volstagg rubbed the horses down.

"I am quite disgusted with myself, Volstagg," Balder stated. "Usually it is my horse that I am kindest to, and today my focus nearly lamed him." He pressed his head against his horse's. "Forgive me, Skjótr?" The grey pulled his head back and gently smacked Balder with his snout. Balder chuckled. "In time, then. I know, I'm an overzealous fool." Skjótr whickered agreement.

The fire finally became sturdy enough that Fandral didn't need to hover by it every second, and he rolled out his blankets then left to get enough wood for the night. Hogun hadn't yet returned. Their work with the horses done (and the creatures almost immediately went to sleep), Volstagg and Balder went over by the fire.

Volstagg looked over at Balder, who somehow managed to read in this light, slowly and carefully turning the pages of the book he had recovered from Rumplestiltskin's castle. Volstagg sat down next to him.

"Is that what will save Thor?" he asked.

"I have a feeling that saving my brother is but one of the many things this book can do," Balder replied. "Unfortunately, there is much of this book I cannot read. I shall have to find someone who can translate it."

"So, what is the risk of this method you've found?" Volstagg asked.

Balder glanced up at him in surprise. "There isn't," he stammered. "I just—"

"You don't have to deceive me," Volstagg said gently. "Though you are a much better liar, I've known your brother longer than anyone here. You have not explained to us this remedy, especially since we must find Sif, but there is more reason to it than that."

"There is risk," Balder confessed, nodding slowly. "But I do not know the entirety of it yet. Once I do, I cannot promise I will tell you, Volstagg. All I can request is that, when the time comes, you obey my command to depart and take your fellows with you."

"You must do it alone?" Volstagg asked.

"For everyone's sakes, yes," Balder nodded. "I hope you can understand this."

"You are very secretive, Balder," Volstagg noted. "You behave like a man who hasn't anything to lose."

Balder looked back at him. "That is because I don't," he replied wearily. "Every friend I have ever made I have lost, my own brothers are taken from me, and… that is not even the greatest loss."

"There was something worse?" Volstagg questioned softly.

Balder looked up at the clouded stars, nodding as tears glistened in his eyes. "There was," he choked in undertones. "Perhaps I shall tell you of it someday, Volstagg. But not this day."

Volstagg nodded understanding. The two looked over as Hogun returned with an elk hanging over his shoulder, and Fandral came back with a sufficient supply of firewood shortly after. Balder closed the book, wrapping it in cloth again and putting it back into his satchel. Volstagg helped with the skinning and gutting of Hogun's catch, and Balder and Fandral crafted a sturdy spit on which to roast the animal.

"We really should have remembered to bring a pan," Fandral muttered, sounding irritated with himself. "That had always been Loki's job…" He paused. "Actually, no, it wasn't. He just never forgot anything we would need."

"Loki was always the most intelligent of us," Volstagg said. He and Hogun cleaned their hands of blood.

"I was jealous of him," Fandral admitted. He helped wrestle the elk through the spit and the four of them took turns cranking the shaft. After parceling between them and saving half for tomorrow, they ate dinner. Volstagg noticed Balder was starting to nod and gently shoved him over. Balder began to protest.

"Get some sleep, Balder," Volstagg interrupted him, firm but kind. "You have run yourself ragged these past few days, and you need the rest more than I. More than any of us, I suspect. I'll wake you when the elk's cooked."

Balder nodded reluctant consent and it was less than a minute before he had slipped away, the satchel tucked under his arm. Volstagg volunteered to take watch and the others went to rest. The eldest Asgardian took up the sentry position, watching the dark forest as the fire warmed his back.

* * *

Mr. Gold gave Regina an amused smile as she came in. "Your Majesty. I assume you're here about Mr. Hemming," the pawnbroker said. "He's been… something of a pressing matter on your mind, I hear."

"He was talking to my _son_," Regina snarled, losing composure and not feeling the least bit sorry for it. "This has gone too far, Gold. Who was he?"

A knowing smile appeared on Mr. Gold's face. "Well, Your Majesty," he replied, "that depends on who you ask. He's something of a master of disguise."

"I've already got Holmes here," Regina answered, and to her surprise Mr. Gold laughed.

"Oh no, dearie, I'm referring to disguises of a very different sort," he told her.

"What's your price, Gold?" Regina demanded. "I need his name."

"Ask yourself a question first, Regina," Mr. Gold replied. "Which is more important to you: learning the true identity of young master Hemming, or taking care of Ms. Blanchard? Because I won't help you with both."

Knowledge or revenge. Regina debated, and finally released an angry sigh. "Blanchard."

Mr. Gold smiled. "I knew you'd make the right choice, Your Majesty."

Regina scowled and stalked out of the pawnshop, passing by Mr. Gold's newest item on display: a dusky blue stone, rising up from the glass like a jagged mountain. Dormant Jotun ice. He magicless Dark One had been waiting for the right time to set it in view.

* * *

Sif had been desperately searching for the gateway Bagheera had taken her through. If she could just find Rumplestiltskin, make him change the deal… then no one would have to know. Loki would go back to Asgard. Things would return to the way they ought to have been.

She had been searching for hours, fruitless hours. She spun as hooves thundered towards her, and dove for a hiding place. Balder and the Warriors Three galloped up and sharply reined their horses in, swiftly dismounting and shouting Sif's name.

Balder in particular looked equally worried and suspicious. He called her name also, then tensely added, "What was she thinking, she doesn't know this world and it will kill her." His blue eyes roved the trees and foliage.

"Here's her horse," Fandral said, rejoining them with the horse's bridle in his hand. He looked around also. "But where is she?"

"Hiding, or dead," Balder answered flatly. Sif slowly started to move back, no more audible than a whisper, but she had the misfortune of startling a bird. All four of the other Asgardians sprinted forward. Sif almost outpaced them, but somehow Balder had circled around and made it further than her. He knew this realm and she did not.

She collided with him and he grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. Sif was not accustomed to being shaken and she did not like it at all, but it turned out that Balder had quite the grip.

"Let go of me!" she ordered, and in the meantime the others had caught up.

"Sif, you foolish, foolish woman," Balder berated her, and Sif was shocked to see tears in his eyes. "You have no _idea_ what sort of creatures prowl through here in the night. _Never, ever_ separate yourself from us again, do you understand me?" When Sif didn't answer, Balder shook her more violently than Sif had ever been shaken before. "_Do you understand?_"

"Yes!" Sif exclaimed. "Now let me go!"

Balder released her and stepped back, panting tensely as he straightened the satchel draped around his neck. "Sif, why did you run?" he demanded sharply. He strode forward. "Answer me!"

"Balder." Volstagg set a hand on the Odinson's shoulder and gently forced him to stand aside. "Sif, you can explain, can't you?"

Sif hesitated. "I…"

"Sif." Volstagg's hands closed around her wringing ones, his gaze gently but firmly commanding nothing but the absolute truth.

"It was me," the words rushed out of her, and she felt like a naïve young girl again, ruining things as always. "It was me, I made a deal with Rumplestiltksin, it wasn't supposed to be this way."

"_What?_" Balder hissed. Murder came to his eyes.

Shock was written across Volstagg's face, across everyone's faces, and he stared at Sif in wounded questioning. "A deal?" he echoed painfully. "Sif, why would you—" His eyes softened, and that stabbed into Sif's heart all the deeper. "What was his price? Nothing comes for free from Rumplestiltskin."

Sif faltered, then pulled her false braid away.

"Sif," Fandral murmured softly.

Balder's face was hard. "Why?" he demanded, his voice a rage-suffused growl. "You traitorous woman, why would you connive against your own prince?"

"He's _insane,_ Balder!" Sif cried. "You have not seen what he has done, I have! He was going to escape, he's Loki, and then he would do it all over again, but only worse. Thor is never going to kill him to protect the thousands of others, even millions. I had to do something, to bring the madness to an end!" She groaned. "And now I have only made everything worse."

"Sif, there were other ways," Fandral began.

"Were there?" Sif questioned fiercely. "I didn't want to be the one to kill him, Fandral! It would break Thor's heart. I would do it, if I had to, but I couldn't stand by and wait for it to come. I couldn't let that happen to the innocents, even if… even if Thor would, as well-meaning as he may have been."

"And now you question Thor," Balder snarled viciously.

"No, she has a point," Volstagg said tiredly. "Thor would never kill Loki, no matter how high the cost grows. What Sif has done is unpardonable, but we cannot pretend that we would never search for a way to make certain Loki was no threat to others again."

"Where is he?" Balder demanded of Sif. "Where is my brother?"

"I don't know," Sif replied, despairing when she saw Balder didn't believe her. "I don't! I was trying to find the panthers' gateway, I thought it could—"

"The panthers' gateway?" Balder repeated. "How do you know of it?"

"It was Bagheera the panther, he guided me through after I made the deal."

"Bagheera." Balder went still as his rage unwillingly suppressed. "Bagheera," he said again, and sighed, eyes closing. "Watch her," he said in a low voice, and walked away. Volstagg came alongside him, and Fandral and Hogun flanked Sif.

"Why keep yourself away?" Volstagg asked Balder.

"Because I might kill her," Balder stated matter-of-factly, his voice tense. "I have no tolerance for traitors. For her own sake and mine, Volstagg, stay between us."

Volstagg nodded silently. Balder extracted a well-used map from his satchel and spread the paper apart, running his finger across different routes as he calculated. "If we head this way," he pointed, "we'll make the haven before tomorrow's dawn."

He rolled the map closed and returned it to the satchel, swinging up on his horse's back. Balder gave Sif a look of loathing and then turned away as though she no longer existed, kicking his heels into Skjótr's sides. The grey surged forward and the others followed. Sif's head hung in shame as Volstagg and Hogun each rode alongside. Fandral didn't want to be near her, an expression of hurt confusion on his face.

* * *

Henry noticed the shattered vase and scattered flowers and Emma's absence. Where was she? More importantly, where was Mary Margaret? Henry had the worst feeling. He ran out of the sheriff's station, not even realizing that he had left _Mixed Fables_ sitting on Emma's desk.

* * *

Ruby took note of the late hour Tom came in to pick up his dinner. "Eight o'clock," she remarked as she came over to take his order. "You're usually in here two hours earlier than that."

"So you've noticed," Tom said, seeming to approve of her observation skills. He didn't know that Ruby could practically tell time by him. If he was getting dinner, it was six, if he was getting lunch, it was one, and if he was getting breakfast, it was six again.

"Well, you're a regular," Ruby replied. She smirked at him teasingly. "And I never forget a pretty face."

Tom blinked at her, it was blatantly obvious that he had no idea what to do with that comment. Ruby snickered and asked for his order. He made a request for lasagna and water, and Ruby let the cook know. She came back and noted the handful of bruises and scrapes marring Tom's odd appearance.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"The children at the elementary school asked me to return after class hours to play football—pardon me, Americans prefer the name soccer," Tom said. "They moved onto more physical games and, well, they didn't really want me to leave. Afterwards I had errands to run."

Ruby chuckled. "That's the fourth day in a row," she said. "Those kids have got you wrapped around their little finger, and I think you like it."

Tom blinked again, looking at Ruby in surprise. "Yes," he said, as though truly realizing it for the first time. "I believe I do."

They smiled. Ruby stepped outside for a moment, navigating around Sheriff Swan and the new resident of Granny's Inn, disappearing from sight. Then came her scream.

Tom had never moved so quickly in his life. He didn't even know he was this agile. He slipped between moving diners swifter than a knife through air, and saw Sheriff Swan and the stranger run around the building, passing and speaking with Ruby.

Tom ran up to the clearly distraught woman. "Ruby, what's wrong?" he asked, eyes flicking anxiously over her pale face. "Can I help?"

He staggered back when Ruby grabbed hold of him in a desperate hug, shaking all over. Hesitantly he wrapped his arms back around her trembling frame, not saying a word for he didn't know what to say. He had never seen Ruby so frightened.

"Not again," Ruby moaned. "Not again."


	12. Chapter 11

_**Author's notes: **In which Balder demonstrates his behind-your-back skills (_someone_ watched his big brother Loki), and Tom starts to suspect he needs to look up 'friendship' in a dictionary. (or: in which the author doesn't know what to put in the author's notes)_

_**Warnings:** All magic comes with a price.  
_

* * *

Ruby fixed herself a cup of tea, cursing her clumsiness when her trembling hands caused her to scald herself. Tom took over at this point.

"It's Kathryn," Ruby said, still shocked. "David Nolan's wife."

Nolan. Tom had seen him a number of times. He had never interacted with the man personally, but there was something about him that seemed ridiculously familiar. He nodded to indicate he knew whom Ruby was speaking of.

"But Kathryn's dead," Ruby continued shakily. "I… I found her _heart_, Tom. They were taking Mary Margaret away for the murder today…"

"Miss Blanchard?" Tom questioned. "She's hardly the sort to inflict harm upon someone." And he knew exactly what sort of people inflicted harm upon others. Mayor Mills and Mr. Gold were among the town's number.

"I know, but all the evidence…" Ruby shook her head. "I'm so confused." Tom silently handed her a steaming mug of tea, and she thanked him. "This town just keeps getting freakier."

Tom nodded agreement, sitting beside her and pulling a book out of his inside pocket and opening it to the marker. _The Fellowship of the Ring_, at Madge's behest. Tom was already halfway through Ruby looked over at him and laughed, and Tom looked back at her quizzically.

"You really suck at this whole comforting-friend thing, you know?" she said.

Tom blinked a moment before saying, "I don't have any friends."

"Matthew would disagree," Ruby replied. "That kid is practically your shadow. Or maybe you're his, considering all the mayhem he drags you into."

"Isn't this supposed to be about you?" Tom said dryly. Ruby only smiled and drank her tea, nerves gradually soothing. Tom sat next to her, silently reading his book. He seemed to have chosen not to leave, and that was soothing too, at least a little. Ruby was calm enough to go back to work sometime later.

Tom watched her for a short while before he was satisfied that Ruby was alright. He tucked the Tolkien book back into his coat's interior pocket, then picked up his dinner and went home to the library. It wasn't until he bumped into Lillian that he realized he had been gone more than half of his workday. But Lillian laughed his concern away and said they had all of seven visitors that day, and he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.

Tom had the most peculiar boss, he thought at times. Lillian didn't leave right away and turned to face him. "Tom, do you happen to have, oh, an hour or two free on Saturday?" she asked.

"I believe so," Tom replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you know Charlene Boxer?" Lillian sent a question in return. Tom shook his head. "She's a lovely woman, you'd like her. Charlene is expecting, but since her husband, Benjamin, died in action overseas, she's all alone in the house they had been hoping to fill. So she's invited me to come stay with her, and the little one will be joining us in another month."

"It sounds as though you'll be quite happy in sharing quarters," Tom said politely.

"Charlene and I have known each other for quite some time," Lillian said, and her tone was fond. "It feels like she's my daughter. So, shall you be able to lend a hand?" she came back to the original question."If you don't mind helping, that is."

"Not at all," Tom replied.

"I'll donate most of my books to the library," Lillian said. "Except for the children's ones, those will stay for Charlene's baby. There will be a lot of things I won't be taking with me, perhaps I can pawn them to Mr. Gold. There ought to be a fair bit of extra money to put towards the monthly rent on the library."

"Whoa, steady on, Lillian," Tom said. "You're only changing houses, not leaving the library!"

"I don't know, Tom," Lillian replied honestly, and didn't fail to notice the slight widening of her assistant's eyes. "I've been giving a lot of thought to retirement lately—I am nearly seventy, you know. Not getting any younger."

"Oh. Of course." Tom's expression was strained.

"There is someone I've been thinking of asking to take over the position of librarian, but eh…" Lillian glanced sideways at Tom and restrained a giggle. "I don't know if they're interested." As always, Tom still didn't catch on. Lillian shook her head lightly and said goodnight, trusting Tom to finish locking everything down. He always did.

Once Lillian was gone, Tom slipped into the library and nestled in the security of his small room. Sticking the occasional piece of his lasagna dinner in his mouth, Tom's eyes traveled across his book's pages, finding great pleasure in devouring the masterpiece Madge had introduced him to. It was a good thing _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had successors.

Finally Tom forced himself to a halt as he finished the first book, tucking his marker (a green ribbon) at the first page of _The Two Towers_. Relaxed, his head full of good tale and his belly full of good meal, he laid back on his bed and fell asleep. Sadly, it did not take his dreams long to turn dark.

* * *

It was far into the night when Balder and the others at last rode back into the haven town. They were each exhausted, but Balder especially, for something troubled his mind still and he had not yet told the others what it was. Nor did he feel obligated to do so, especially after the treachery of Sif.

They dismounted and unsaddled their steeds, releasing them to graze. The others horses followed Skjótr, knowing the grey was wise to the ways of this realm. Exhausted, the Asgardians went to rest, believing what Balder had told them: that Thor's awakening would come with the dawn. Balder excused him, telling them he had to take council with one of the town's leaders.

Volstagg still gave him a questioning look, but he was as fatigued as the rest and so he did not press. Balder left the hut and strode right out of the village, going to the clearing where the statues were laid out. It was so far into the night that the dawn was beginning to come, and Balder's sharp eyes were able to pick up the text of the open book in his hands.

He gaze perused the unfamiliar name, printed in runes, and carefully read it aloud, thrice with gaining confidence, finishing with a ringing _I summon thee_.

Up from the ground reared a magnificent stone mane, luminescent golden eyes beneath, and finally the last rocky, claw-tipped paw planted on the upturned grass and the strange creature stared into Balder's eyes. It easily reached his shoulder, nothing like the pup-sized statuette he had taken from Rumplestiltskin's castle.

"What is my task, Prince of Asgard?" the stone lion rumbled, its voice frighteningly deep and ancient, and Balder knew that he was tampering with a magic he couldn't possibly hope to control, should it choose to turn against him. However, what he had to ask of it was natural to its nature, and that shouldn't bring about anything foul.

"These people here," Balder said, gesturing with his hand. "Statues now, but people once. I know it is within your power to lift the stone curse, lion, and I ask you to do so now."

The golden eyes burned into him a moment longer. "It is within my power," it replied. "This is your request, and no more?"

Balder nodded. "It is."

The lion began to pace toward the back of the clearing, to the oldest of the statues. It looked back at Balder. "You know the price you must pay?" it queried, and quoted, "_to lift the moment's curse from another's soul, will forever be yours to hold._"

Balder realized he was shaking and steeled himself, jerking his chin in a nod. "I know this."

The lion looked back to the statue. While Stonebreath screamed to entrap its victims, the lion _inhaled_, breathing in deeper and deeper as the grey stone turned to grey mist and was pulled into the lion's maw. A child, now fully flesh and bone once more, fell to the grass in deep slumber. The lion moved on. Balder winced at the pinprick in his chest, a needle stabbing from within.

He checked each person the lion freed, neither he nor the magical creature saying a word. But the lion stopped when there were two left: Bagheera and Thor.

"I can only take one more," the lion said. "Thirty-one is all I can save for your price. You must choose."

Balder stared at it, aghast.

* * *

Lillian was changing out light bulbs in the library. While they didn't have very many (in fact, hardly at all), Lillian wasn't going to have a poorly lit library for any reason. Tom returned from breakfast and walked over to Lillian. He seemed concerned about her being at the top of the ladder, as he always did whenever he saw Lillian up there, but Lillian had come to learn that he wouldn't ever say anything.

"Shouldn't I do that?" Tom asked, a worried frown creasing his features. "You might fall, and you're not the most limber of women anymore, Lillian."

Well. That was different. Lillian looked down at Tom in surprise and said, "Well, do you want to do it?"

For answer Tom held the ladder firmly in place and waited for her to come down. Lillian obliged and Tom scaled quickly up, swiftly exchanging light bulbs and moving the ladder to the next lamp. Lillian watched him, wondering what on earth had sparked this change. Tom paused at one of the lamps, looking thoughtfully at the bulb in his hand.

"Lillian," he said. "Do you…" He hesitated, then struggled on. "Do you consider me to be a… a friend?"

Lillian was speechless. Had Tom really, _really _just asked that question? Tom shrank a little, perhaps murmuring _never mind_, and Lillian shook herself out of her surprise. "Of course I consider you my friend," she said, and Tom glanced down at her, astonishment in his eyes. "We've known each other for thirteen years, Tom. I let you live in my house for eight months. Those are the sort of things friends do for each other, don't you know that?"

"I must confess that I hadn't," Tom said, honestly. Befuddled and all the more contemplative, he returned to his task.

Lillian wondered who it was that had planted this thought in Tom's head. She wanted to know, because she would find that person and wrap them up in the biggest hug she had ever given. Tom was setting the ladder below the last lamp when young Matthew came to join them.

"Hey, Mr. Hemming," he called as Tom started up the ladder.

"Good morning, Matthew," Tom replied, sparing the lad a brief look before continuing his ascent.

"Did you hear the news?"

"Maybe."

Matthew shook his head in light exasperation. Lillian noticed Tom glance down and smile slightly, eyes holding a sparkle of mirth. That had never been there before.

"Miss Blanchard is out of jail," Matthew said. "She didn't kill Mrs. Nolan at all, Mrs. Nolan was alive the whole time. She's at the hospital right now."

"I know," Tom replied. "Ruby found her last night."

"I knew Miss Blanchard didn't do anything to Mrs. Nolan," Matthew said confidently. "She's too good to do horrible stuff like that."

Yes, but since it wasn't Blanchard who murdered anyone, and Mrs. Nolan was still alive, then who orchestrated the whole thing? Tom decided to keep that thought to himself. He replaced the last bulb and climbed back down the ladder.

"Shouldn't you be heading to school, Matthew?" he inquired, lifting an eyebrow at the boy.

Matthew shrugged. "Yeah, but I can make it. I just wanted to tell you about Miss Blanchard."

"Well, you have now, and thank you," Tom replied. "I have work to do, lad, now scoot." He ushered him along.

Matthew stopped, an embarrassed look on his face. "I can't remember where I put my backpack," he realized. "I put it down in here somewhere and now I can't remember where."

Tom blinked at him. "Really, Matthew?"

"Sorry! Please help me find it, Mr. Hemming?"

Tom released an exasperated sigh, which bore a certain amount of exaggeration, and helped Matthew search. They found the missing pack a few minutes later. "Here it is, Matthew," Tom said, lifting it up and setting it back in Matthew's hands. His eyebrows furrowed. "Why did you put it behind the checkout counter anyways?"

"Well, I didn't want anyone to take it," Matthew replied simply.

"You couldn't have just kept the backpack with you?" Tom questioned, lifting his eyebrow again.

Matthew shrugged. "I don't like carrying a lot of stuff. See ya after school, Mr. Hemming!"

Tom saw him out to the door (mostly to make certain that Matthew hadn't lost his shoes as well, or something else as vital) and before coming back in paused, sniffing the air. Spring. The final thaw was on its way.

* * *

Volstagg hadn't fallen asleep yet. In fact none of the Asgardians had. Pensively Volstagg watched the hut's door, then rose to his feet. "He's been gone too long," he stated. "Fandral, come with me."

Sif started to follow but Hogun stood in her way. "We stay here," he said firmly, and Sif backed down, her stare a mixture of anger and shame.

Volstagg and Fandral left the hut. Volstagg had a deep suspicion that Balder was going to try and bring Thor back tonight, and every moment the youngest Asgardian was gone he became all the more certain of it.

"Volstagg, his tracks lead this way," Fandral murmured, and Volstagg followed him. The sky was graying with the coming dawn. Quietly, the two Asgardians reached the field of statues. Fandral jerked to a halt, staring in silent horror, and Volstagg remembered that he hadn't seen this place before.

They dropped down to a low crouch when they realized they were not alone. Balder was speaking with a lion of stone, bearing piercing gold eyes. And Volstagg realized that now, only two statues were left. All the rest were limp on the grass, returned to their original states. Balder wasn't just bringing Thor back, he was bringing them _all _back!

"Should we intervene?" Fandral whispered. Volstagg shook his head, and they both stayed hidden among the trees and overgrowth.

The final two statues appeared to be Thor and a great cat. Balder had been staring at the lion for a long moment, shocked into silence. The lion repeated its words, its voice deep as a mountain. "I can only take one more," it growled. "Thirty-one is all I can save for your price."

_Thor makes thirty-two,_ Volstagg remembered Balder's words from days before.

"You must choose."

Balder finally forced himself from his stunned muteness. "Surely you can do both!" he cried.

The lion shook its stone head, a growl rumbling within. "I cannot," it replied. "You must choose: your friend or your brother."

The cat was Balder's friend. Balder's very close friend, if the conflict on his face was anything to go by. "How can I make such a decision?" he wondered despairingly. "It's impossible!"

"Nay, only difficult," the lion answered harshly. "Choose; or I shall leave them both as they are."

Balder was weeping. Fandral started forward again but Volstagg dragged him back. He understood now, why Balder wanted no one else to be a part of this. Volstagg wasn't quite sure how he knew, but he knew that somehow, Balder had just traded his life in exchange for all the others.

"I need them both," Balder sobbed. "Bagheera saved my life so many times; it is how he became so, through my own fault. But Thor… the others will only follow me so far without him. I am a mere substitute. Asgard needs its Golden Prince." Shaking, weeping, he looked into the lion's eyes and said, "I choose Thor."

The lion turned to Thor and opened its mouth, breathing in the curse that held the Thunderer captive. Mjolnir fell from Thor's hand and Balder caught him as he collapsed, sinking to the ground with gut-wrenching sobs.

"Bagheera, forgive me," he wailed. "Forgive me, dearest of friends! I'll find another way, I swear I will!"

The stone lion faded away with a last growl. Volstagg and Fandral left their hiding place and came to Balder, who wept for his friend while his unconscious brother lay in his arms. He saw the two Asgardians and a bitter smile twisted his lips.

"I thought you would come, Volstagg," he said, voice husky.

"I'm so sorry, Balder," Volstagg said, and it was heartfelt.

"No one should have to make a decision like that," Fandral added. "If I could have helped—"

"You did," Balder replied, confirming Volstagg's suspicions. "You stayed away. If you were here, it would have been worse. No, it is best that I did it alone." He looked down at Thor. "You shall have to carry him away," he said. "I will not be here much longer."

Thor slowly came to, blinking in confusion at the bearded chin above him. His hand went up and touched it, and Balder's twin blue eyes gazed back down. "Balder?" Thor murmured, hopeful and bewildered. "Brother?"

Balder nodded. "Yes, Thor," he managed to whisper.

Thor released a joyous cry and sat up, enveloping his youngest brother in his arms and laughing. "It is so good to see you!"

Balder choked back his tears and tried to smile, and somehow that pained Volstagg more than anything. "It's good to see you too, Thor," he murmured, and gingerly returned his brother's embrace, as though he were uncertain as to how it worked.

* * *

Regina found herself entering Mr. Gold's yet again (and she would keep coming until she got a result, or Mr. Gold _please_d her away), and she was determined to get what she wanted this time. Mr. Gold lifted a sardonic eyebrow at her arrival and remarked, "You certainly are obstinate, Your Majesty."

"I only want one thing, Rumplestiltskin," Regina said, smiling as she put extra emphasis into his true name. "Tom Hemming's real name and then I'm on my way."

"I've no interest in giving you Mr. Hemming's name," Mr. Gold replied.

"Then why, pray tell, have you not told me to _please_ stop asking about him?" Regina inquired, eyes narrowing.

Mr. Gold held her gaze. "Perhaps there is… something I would consider worth selling it to you for," he admitted. Regina smirked in triumph. "Or two."

"Two?" Regina repeated indignantly. "I'm not—"

"Oh believe me, Your Majesty, Hemming is a _very_ important person," Mr. Gold said, eyes glittering as he displayed a smirk of his own. His was much more satisfied. "He's worth two."

Regina frowned. "Alright then, name them."

"First," Mr. Gold said, "after I tell you his name, you don't hurt him. Second," His eyes hardened. "you never ask anything about Tom Hemming ever again. This is the deal, Regina. Take it or leave it."

Those conditions could only mean that Hemming was a threat to Regina _and_ there were many more important things to know about him besides his name. But she had to start somewhere. There were plenty enough loopholes for her to take advantage of… _carefully_.

Regina nodded. "Deal," she said. They shook hands.

Mr. Gold smiled. "His name is Loki Laufeyson," he told her. "Or Loki Odinson. It depends on who you ask, really."

Neither of the names meant anything to Regina. And that was alarming. "What—" she began, but then Gold leveled a hard look on her and she remembered the second half of the deal. If she wanted additional information, she would have to look for it elsewhere.

* * *

Tom was just returning from the hospital. He had been bringing Madge Lykke some new books and taking her finished ones back to the library. She had been amazed that he had decided to follow through with his offer.

"Mr. Hemming!"

Tom turned around and saw a young girl standing on the sidewalk, nervously fiddling with the folds of her dress. What was her name? Alyssa, Alexia, Lizzie… Eliza, that was right.

"Yes, Eliza?" Tom asked.

"You have to be very honest," Eliza said solemnly. "How do I look?"

"Like a young lady dressing up for the occasion," Tom replied, and wondered what the occasion was.

"I'm serious!" Eliza exclaimed. "Daddy's taking me out on a date and I want to be beautiful."

"Why are you asking me?" Tom wondered.

"Because Mommy will _always_ say I'm pretty and Daddy can't look because I have to surprise him," Eliza explained, looking distressed. "And you make all the bookcases, Mr. Hemming, so I know that you know what's beautiful." She looked up at him with wide, dark eyes. "So, am I beautiful?"

Tom examined Eliza very seriously. "You're missing one thing," he told her. "Wait here." He ran back into the library and ducked into his room, sifting through the boxes tucked into one corner of the space, until he finally found what he was looking for: a tiny box carved by Tom's own hand. Rising, Tom left his room and rejoined Eliza, who had been waiting.

Tom knelt and opened the box, carefully taking out the necklace stored inside and clasping it around Eliza's neck. "There," he said, and smiled at her. "Perfect."

Eliza smiled and gently touched the pendant hanging from the gold necklace. "It's so pretty," she murmured. "Thank you, Mr. Hemming. Is it your mommy's?"

"Sort of," Tom replied softly. He had made a good choice in picking this necklace; the gold offset Eliza's dark skin in a most lovely way. "Please don't lose it, Eliza, it's precious to me."

"I won't," Eliza promised. "Do I look pretty now, Mr. Hemming?"

"You are the most beautiful princess I have ever seen," Tom said truthfully. "There is no doubt about it. Your father will be left breathless."

Eliza giggled and flung her arms around Tom's neck, something he was learning he just ought to resign himself to. "Thank you, Mr. Hemming!" she bubbled happily, not seeming to realize she had already spoken her gratitude.

"You're welcome, lass," Tom replied. "Enjoy your date."

Eliza parted with a shining smile, calling goodbye to him as she skipped down the sidewalk. Tom rose to his feet and went inside, shaking his head in befuddlement. Lillian smiled at him as he came in, remarking on how he had once again saved the day. Tom gave a baffled shrug.

"I don't know why they keep coming to me," he said. "They never used to pay any mind to me before." _No one did._

"I should think it was obvious," Lillian replied. "You care, and they can see it."

Tom really, _really_ had the most unusual boss.

* * *

Everyone was ecstatic upon seeing Thor alive and well again, and a massive group hug ensued upon the Thunderer's booming arrival. Even Sif's position as a traitor was forgotten for the moment. Balder stood apart, smiling slightly, but his hand still went up to push away the occasional tear. He prayed that Bagheera could find a way to forgive him, faithless Asgardian that he was. Even more intensely he prayed to find a way to free Bagheera, before it was too late for him to do anything more.

He realized that Thor was looking at him, and had just finished asking him a question. "My apologies, I did not hear you the first time," he said. Pause. "Brother." How strange it was to say that word again, after so long.

"How has this come to pass?" Thor asked. "Sif tells me I was turned to stone and you were the one who saved me. How?"

"There was a book in Rumplestiltskin's castle," Balder said vaguely. "It detailed the way to bring the statue folk back to themselves. I have also been informed of Loki's…" Betrayal? Treachery? Madness? Breaking? "Fall," Balder finished hesitantly, and a mixture of rage and sorrow swept across Thor's face.

"Aye, he did fall," Thor murmured. "And now he has escaped, which is why we need your help."

"I know," Balder replied, his eyes downcast.

"He was reluctant at first," Fandral said.

"Were you?" Thor was confused. "Why?"

"There are others I search for," Balder said softly. "Others who matter more to me than Loki. But you say that wherever he may be, he must certainly be causing slaughter. So I shall help you."

Thor couldn't seem to imagine how Balder could think anyone was more important than Loki. Balder was unsurprised by his eldest brother's sentiment.

Balder realized that the Warriors Three were looking between Sif and Balder. Balder's throat seized. No. _No._ This was not his responsibility, these Asgardians were not his to care for! He had brought back their Mighty One, let him see it all now!

"There are things I must attend," Balder said abruptly. His mind was split in two, screaming _coward!_ and _you have no duty to them!_ "The Warriors Three can explain everything that's happened." He turned sharply and disappeared inside his hut. He locked the door even though he knew it was an entirely vain gesture.

Balder stood for a few moments and breathed, trying to steady himself. He grimaced as pain stabbed him from within his belly, leaning against the door. He'd have to keep an eye out for any pain-dulling plants as they travelled, so as to keep this secret for as long as possible.

But why wasn't he dead? The stone curse took effect immediately, so why…? Balder pulled off his wool tunic and tossed it down onto his cot, and his brow furrowed as he saw the hard speckles of grey across his belly and stomach. Thirty-one of them.

He would have to learn what was happening later. Balder unlocked the small chest set at the foot of his cot, raising the lid and gently withdrawing the folded stack of clothes wrapped in a dusk-blue coat. He changed out of the muddied and plain clothing he had worn for the past year and donned once again his Asgardian garb, re-belting his sword to his side. He noticed the grey expanded in the meantime. He didn't put the cloak on just yet.

Balder caught a glance of himself in the dirt-smeared mirror propped up on his table, behind the wash basin, and paused. He cleaned his face and took a razor to his beard, the first he had since time had begun to flow again. He didn't want to look too much like Thor. He carefully pulled the blade across his jaw until there was nothing left but bare skin, with only a few nicks. A pair of scissors he found as well, cutting away his lengthening hair until there was just enough to crop up between his fingers. A different man looked back at him through the mirror.

Balder's fingers trembled as he fastened his cloak, and when he looked into the mirror, Balder the Questor gazed back. His eyes were different now; old and weary, the eyes of one who had lost the thing they breathed for.

"Balder!" Thor shouted, a frantic note to his voice.

Balder picked up his satchel from the cot, with the books and maps inside (the statuette had turned to ash, as he had expected). He saw something glinting at the bottom of the chest, and he bent over and picked up a golden ring. It was his. Balder had thought he lost it. Silent, he took the ring and slid it onto his weathered and dirty finger, where it fit just as snugly as it had the day he had first put it on.

Quickly he blinked his tears away and stepped outside. Thor blinked at the transformation that had taken place in the last few minutes, and then the partly panicked, partly angry look returned to his face.

"I would know the meaning behind all this, brother," he said strongly. "My friends here say that you rode out to the castle of Rumplestiltskin—The Dark One, even I have known better than that!—and that Sif, my _friend_, is a traitor?! What is this madness, Balder? Every one of these people are my closest of friends, fiercely loyal to me. "

"To you, yes, but to Loki?" Balder gave Thor a hard look. "Think of that, brother. It is true what Sif has done. She made a deal with Rumplestiltskin to have Loki done away with—"

"That is _not_—" Sif began to protest angrily. She composed herself. "That is not what the deal was about. That is not what I went to the imp for."

"Then what?" Balder demanded furiously, grabbing the satchel at his side. "This book is Rumplestiltskin's. In it is a list of every deal Rumplestiltskin has ever made, and how convenient, some of them are written in runes. One of them has Loki's name in it. Specifically: _Tresses for Loki's powerlessness._ And look whose tresses are missing."

Thor turned to Sif, his expression both wounded and stunned. "Sif," he said. "Is this true?"

Sif faced him. She nodded. "It is," she said softly. "I am sorry, Thor. I never would betray you—"

"You have," Balder said flatly. "You betrayed Loki, our brother, and by doing so you have betrayed Thor and I as well."

Thor's look was deeply grieved. "Sif. How could you _do_ this?"

"Thor, I…" Sif's eyes were wide, panicked. Then she turned her gaze to her boots and shook her head. "There is nothing I can say. What I have done is indefensible. If you wish me to leave…"

"No," Thor said, and Sif looked up in surprise. "No, Sif. You have made a horrible mistake, and broken my trust. But I cannot cast you away. I did that to Loki, and we have all seen how that went. You will not leave this company, Sif."

Balder shook his head in disgust. "I would not keep a snake to my chest if it wept tears of remorse!" he hissed under his breath, but no one heard him. Louder, he said, "You five must prepare the horses for travel, we leave now." His eyes met Lancelot's across the square and he added, "I have something to do."

Thor nodded and allowed the others to lead him in the right direction. A cry began to echo through the camp, a joyous cry, as the once-statues returned well and whole again. Balder and Lancelot met, though it took some time for them to navigate around running friends and family members.

"I believe this is your handiwork, Dusk," Lancelot said, smiling warmly at the scene unfolding throughout the camp.

"I had a part," Balder replied. He quickly turned his wince into a smile.

"Where do your friends go?" Lancelot inquired. "Surely you are not leaving again so soon."

"Before he succumbed to Stonebreath, it seems they were seeking out my assistance," Balder said. He shrugged. "Apparently word spreads. You wished to speak with me, Lancelot?" _Thor, please hurry with those horses._

"Yes," Lancelot said. "There are matters of concern I have seen coming to light, and I believe you would be the one to—"

A horse head rammed into Balder's back. "Ehem, Dusk?" Fandral called. Thor gave him an odd look.

Balder turned and saw with relief that all the horses were saddled and ready. "Gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "You prepare quickly. But then, this is urgent, so I understand your need for haste."

"Urgent? What is urgent?"

"Goodbye, Lancelot! You shall have to tell me some other time!" Balder leaped atop Skjótr's back and with a sharp whistle called the Asgardians after him. Skjótr champed eagerly at his bit and together they galloped away.

Balder drew his sword and the others didn't fail to notice. "I don't know how well our departure is going to be taken!" he shouted in explanation. They passed the camp's boundary and once out of sight, vines exploded from the earth. A blow from Hogun's mace sent it recoiling.

"Quick! Before it entangles around the horses!" Fandral cried. They pushed their steeds faster than they had gone yet. After a point the vines could follow them no more, and the Asgardians sighed with relief. They slowed their horses to a walk.

"What was that?" Fandral wondered.

"It looked like Cora's magic," Balder replied. "Apparently she is not so powerless as we believed. No matter, we are out of her reach." Skjótr felt dominant and trotted a little further ahead of the other horses.

Thor guided his horse up beside Volstagg's. "Balder is different," he said, and he sounded unhappy about it. "You have been with him longer of late, Volstagg, do you know what has sparked his change?"

Volstagg shook his head. "He has hinted, but your brother refuses to say what plagues his mind." He hesitated. "He is very wounded, Thor."

Thor winced. Balder continued to ride ahead, unaware of the words spoken behind him.


	13. Chapter 12

**_Author's notes:_**_ *sets head on desk* I have so many feelings. Why do characters make things so hard? I had to keep stopping because of tears again. Augh. ;_; But as an aside, updates to _Green & Gold _will be coming every Monday now! So you have a reason to look forward to Mondays. :) Also, included with the chapter updates my Tumblr will be a sketch or detailed drawing of characters from _Green & Gold_._

**_Warnings:_**_ Child abuse. Grief.  
_

* * *

They camped while the sun was yet in the sky, for Thor did not fail to notice that half his company was swaying in their saddles. This would not do if they were to rush into battle, so the eldest Odinson declared they had gone far enough and they prepared a rudimentary camp. Balder disappeared soon after and Fandral mentioned seeing him head into the forest, perhaps with the intent of foraging. Hogun promised to watch Sif, and Thor left in the direction Fandral indicated.

Balder was indeed foraging, but Thor was uncertain that it was for food. He recognized only a few of the plants Balder had so far procured, and he thought, perhaps, they looked a little like some of the herbs Loki used in healing poultices, when they were stranded and the supply of healing stones was scarce.

Thor wasn't sure if Balder knew he was there. His younger brother's back was to him, a single knee driven into the ground while he carefully dug up a root for purposes Thor did not know. Thor cleared his throat and the other Asgardian paused.

"Hello, Balder," Thor said. His fingers tugged at Mjolnir's strap without aim.

"Hello, Thor," Balder responded politely. He did not turn around, setting a severed root among his collection and continuing to dig.

"I cannot help but notice…" Thor hesitated, awkward, and debated moving closer to his sibling. "Something troubles you, brother. Deeply." Thor's gaze was concerned. Though he could not see it, Balder's was not.

"I am only tired, Thor," Balder replied. He was being evasive. Why? It was so much like Loki and it hurt.

"This is not mere weariness," Thor persisted, wondering where Balder's resistance sprang from. "The one statue that remains, the great cat—Volstagg told me that he was a dear friend of yours. That you were forced to choose between him and I. Is that what causes your distress?"

Balder didn't answer at first. His hands brushed against each other, earth falling to nestle amongst blades of grass. He carefully folded his cloth of roots and green shoots. "Some of it," he admitted, and Thor's stomach sank, for Balder did not say 'all of it' or 'most of it.' There had been something worse that had happened to his little brother, whilst Thor had been off selfishly seeking his own glory. Truly he was a terrible kinsman, and he only proved it time and time again.

"Balder, please tell me," Thor pleaded softly. He wanted to be the brother he ought to have been all along, _yearned_ for it with a desperation that squeezed like a claw around his heart. Seven hundred years he had never been there for Balder, seven turning of the centuries, and the shame was as a knife. How could he never have known until now? Something was lost in his little brother, something that would never be found again.

"Please, Balder," Thor asked again. His voice had faded, the blue in his eyes was dull. He longed for this chance, for Balder to give him one more chance, but… But.

Balder hesitated, diverting his attention by carefully storing his wrapped harvest into the satchel ever hanging by his side. In the brief time that took, his eyes closed even further, as though he were _afraid_ of the consequences confiding in his brother might have. He shook his head. "Not at this time, Thor," he said quietly. "It is… too near a thing to speak of."

He stepped past Thor and went to where they had prepared camp. Thor stood frozen, as though Balder's handful of words had rendered him stone once more.

Balder didn't trust him. Careful and courteous he had been, maybe even kind. But he didn't trust Thor. Didn't trust his own brother. Why? _Why?_

Tears pricked at Thor's eyes and he blinked fiercely. He took a different route back to the camp, one that wandered. As he returned to the others, he met Volstagg's eyes briefly and shook his head. Volstagg's lips turned down in a sympathetic frown.

* * *

"Mr. Hemming?"

This was becoming a frequent call, and Tom had begun to understand that none would speak it to him but the young. He turned a saw a girl, close to Matthew's age. He had met her earlier that day, when walking Matthew to school; Paige was her name.

"Yes, that is me," he confirmed, sliding down on one knee to be closer to her level. "How may I help you, dear?" For Tom had learned that, above all else, the children came to him for assistance. And he found the strangest, happiest satisfaction in giving it to them.

"Matthew told me you know about all kinds of stuff," Paige said to Tom. "And I was wondering… could you help me with my rabbit?"

"I must confess, I am not much of an expert on rabbit-keeping," Tom admitted. "However, I do know where some excellent resources on the care of them are located. Come with me." He rose to his feet and Paige followed his lead. "What sort of problem is your rabbit having?"

"Jeffy won't eat his food," Paige said worriedly. "It's been two days now. But Hat's okay."

"Hat?" Tom glanced over at her as he kept walking.

"He's my other rabbit," Paige explained. "I named him Hat because the top of his head is all black, all the way up his ears. Like a hat. Jeffy's all white."

"Ah, I understand now," Tom nodded. "And here we are." He pulled out a thick tome, quickly scanning through the index for anything pertaining to Paige's issue. "Has anything different happened lately that would affect Jeffy?"

"Our cat died," Paige said sadly. "Jeffy has always liked to break out of his cage and get Alice to chase him all over the house. It freaked Mom out, but Dad and I knew Jeffy did it on purpose. He's a crazy rabbit." Paige's smile waned. "But now he won't eat."

"It seems to me that he's grieving," Tom said. "If I may ask, Paige, what happened to your cat?"

"She was hit by a car," Paige told him. She hugged herself. "I miss her."

Tom rested a hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, Paige," he said sincerely. "Alice must have been a dear friend to you."

Paige nodded, biting her lip to stop its trembling. She looked back up at Tom. "Do you think that's it?" she asked. "Jeffy's not eating because he misses Alice?"

"It is the most plausible reason for Jeffy's condition," Tom replied.

"What should I do?" Paige wondered.

"Well, he's in mourning for someone he misses very much," Tom said. "And being a rabbit, it's difficult for him to understand why Alice is gone. I would recommend patience and some extra tender loving care. And since he won't eat on his own, I suggest you help him along. Remember to be kind to him. Be gentle."

Paige stepped forward and hugged him. "Thank you, Mr. Hemming," she said. "Matthew was right: you do always know what to do." She rushed away to Jeffy's aid and Tom chose not to reprimand her for running in the library. Not like there was anyone for her to run into.

* * *

On impulse, Regina went to Jefferson's house. After all, the Mad Hatter was well-travelled, and familiar with things Regina had no knowledge of. So if anyone besides Mr. Gold knew who Loki was, it would be Jefferson.

He didn't answer the door so Regina unlocked it herself, finding him up in his high room with the telescope. "Long time, no see, Regina," he said flatly, not turning around. "Such a shame it wasn't longer."

"Hello, Jefferson," Regina purred in reply. "I've come here to ask you about something."

"If it's help you want, then you already know the answer no," Jefferson snapped. He wanted to be difficult. Regina didn't have time for this; she had other things to tend to. Like the fact that Kathryn Nolan was still alive.

"Not help, Jefferson," she told the once-thief. "I don't need that yet. What I do need from you is a simple answer: do you know a Loki Laufeyson?" When she didn't get a response, she reiterated. "Though you might him as Loki Odinson?"

That got Jefferson's attention, and he finally turned around. "I know him," he confirmed. "I noticed him in the library some time ago. Why did you bring him here?"

"I didn't," Regina bit. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Only that if he remembers who he is, _ever_, you're screwed," Jefferson told her bluntly. "This whole town is." Seeing Regina's confused—and alarmed—expression, he went over to a chest of drawers and withdrew a file. "Case in point," he said, and handed Regina a photo. "This is the city of Manhattan; a metropolis greater and grander than has ever been constructed in our world."

He handed her another photo. "This is Manhattan after Loki stopped by for a visit."

Regina stared in horror at the damage the single photo portrayed. "How—"

"He led an army from another world in an attack against the city, almost razed it to the ground," Jefferson replied. "Why? Because he wants to subjugate this entire planet. Don't know what happened to him to turn him into this, but it must have been one heck of a thing."

"Then, he didn't used to be…" Regina didn't know how to finish her sentence.

"A mass murderer? No," Jefferson shook his head. "Trust me, if he was, you'd know. Loki's been around for… a while. I'm guessing that's why the assistant librarian isn't homicidally inclined: his years of being chaotic good outnumber his years of chaotic evil."

"He's a danger," Regina said.

"Understatement of the millennia, Regina," Jefferson answered dryly. "If he remembers, he'll see this place reduced to ash."

"Does he have magic?" Regina asked.

"Magic?" Jefferson scoffed. "Regina, you have no idea. And trust me, you really don't want to know what his parents are capable of."

Regina handed the photo of desolated Manhattan back to Jefferson. "Thank you for your help, Jefferson." She hurried out of his house, afraid for her town as well as her own life, and _Henry_.

Jefferson watched her go with a cold smirk playing across his typically somber features. He turned back to his telescope and peered through, eyes going to the schoolyard and seeing, along with his daughter Grace, the profile of Tom Hemming.

"Come on, man, remember," Jefferson murmured.

* * *

Night had fallen. Balder frowned up at the dark sky, nibbling on one of the roots he'd foraged from the woods. There wasn't much it could do for Balder's state, but anything that competed against pain was something he would use, so long as it didn't dull his reflexes overmuch. "We've lost nearly a day's ride," he said.

Thor was seated next to Fandral, cross-legged as Balder was. "This does not bode well for us?" he asked.

Balder frowned again, looking down at the map spread out on the dry blades in front of him as his fingers lightly drummed the open pages of the book in his lap. Firelight cast shadows across the paper. "You are concerned for Loki's doings," Hogun observed.

"I am concerned for a great many things, Hogun," Balder replied. "Yet Loki, not as much as I had been initially. I have been searching through this book, and if I correctly understand what it tells me, the curse placed on Loki will have taken from him all recollection of who he truly is. Memory will only return with the breaking of the curse, which he cannot initiate himself."

"You have known this how long?" Sif demanded. Balder glared at her.

"Only shortly," he said, his words to her curt. "While you have rested, I have read, and so learned." The truth was that Balder was frantic to find out what was happening to him, why things had not gone as the book said they would. No answers had he found.

"No memory," Thor murmured. "But how does the curse break?"

"That, I have not learned," Balder said. He looked back down at the book, but before he had a chance to resume his reading, the book was snatched away by Thor, who looked down at him with grim countenance.

"You have evaded both my presence and my questions, through all this day," said Thor. "I came here to request your help in finding Loki, yet now I wonder if perhaps it is you who is the missing one." His eyes narrowed, suspicious.

Balder seemed calm, but Thor could see his apprehension. "I see you've lost your patience," he remarked. "It lasted longer than I had expected."

"I have changed," Thor answered. "But more importantly, so have you." He extended a hand to Balder, which the younger Asgardian reluctantly took, and both of the brothers walked away from the camp and into the black woods. Each brought their weapon in case of need.

The remaining Asgardians looked at each other. "Well," said Fandral. "It would seem that at least one of us is going to figure Balder out."

"Not so long ago, Thor's concept of a discussion was a round of fisticuffs," Volstagg recalled. "A fortunate thing he has changed."

"Balder is more akin to Loki than Thor," Sif said, a concerned crease in her brow. "Yet while Loki's words are as silk, Balder's are a sting. Those who he does not trust he stabs. And he does not trust Thor."

The Warriors Three said nothing. Thor and Balder disappeared at last from their sight, going on until they found a small copse. They seated themselves upon a fallen tree, Thor setting Mjolnir down in the moss. Their only light out here was moonlight, which was so bright that, were it not silver, one would think it to be day.

"I haven't the slightest idea how to tell you this, Thor," Balder said.

"I have the feeling you don't _want_ to have the slightest idea," Thor replied, but he kept his tone gentle. "Do you fear that I will scoff at you?"

"Fear? I know you will!" Balder snapped. "You have never had anything but derision for love, and—"

"You're in love?" Thor sat erect and beamed excitedly at his brother. "Who is she? What is she like? What's her name?"

Balder was stunned. "You… care?" he croaked in astonishment.

"Of course I do!" Thor exclaimed. "When do I get to meet her?"

"You… you won't," Balder said in a low voice, unable to look at Thor. "Thor, I lost her." He twisted something on his finger: a ring that Thor hadn't noticed before. "We had been married for only two weeks, she and I. Two weeks, full of such happiness."

His eyes closed and he whispered her name, a prayer under starlight. "Julia."

Thor's hand touched his shoulder and stayed there. "What happened?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with care.

"She was stolen from me," Balder said in hollow tones. "When the Curse swept over this land, it took her also. We gazed into each other's eyes, we both knew we were afraid, and when the smoke was gone… so was she." Balder blinked, but rather than pushing back his tears it pushed the welling ones off the edge. "That was twenty-eight years ago, Thor. Nothing to someone of Asgardian life. But it was Helheim, brother, eternity after eternity of Helheim."

His fists clenched as his eyes shut, a sob wracking his body. "Why?! The same witch who cast the Curse was taken by it. I don't know where to find Julia, I don't know if she's—" He couldn't finish. He could barely breathe for his despair. "I'm helpless, Thor! Balder the Questor, the Bright, the Oh-So Clever, and I cannot find my own wife! My own love!"

He wailed, face in his hands. "I worked and fought for years to win to heart, Thor," he cried. "I strove, and she was worth every second of that struggle. Now she is gone, taking everything I love with her. And then it was me and Bagheera, and while saving my life he forsook his. Must I slay everyone I touch? Even you came here and were entrapped in stone!"

"But you saved me," Thor replied.

"Barely," Balder spat. "And I wasn't going to. You know why, Thor? Because I didn't care. I didn't care about you because I made myself forget how to care about my family, about Asgard. I don't even consider myself Asgardian anymore. And look at you!" He gestured to Thor frantically. "You've changed, grown into a prince that will always do Asgard proud. And I… I am the same. Alone. Bitter. Without everything. Without my true love." He shook his head. "I tell you, Thor, unforgiveness will drive you mad."

He twisted the ring on his finger again. "When I first kissed her, the whole world came alive," he whispered in wonder. "There was color everywhere, Thor—everywhere! It was true love, and we both knew it. We had known it a long time. For Julia I scaled the mountains, crossed deserts, and battled every foul creature to be found. It was all for Julia! But now it is for nothing, only a memory of light."

Balder couldn't stop weeping. His nose dripped with tears. "I loved her so much, Thor!" he wailed, raw with a heart torn apart. "And now she's gone!"

Thor didn't hesitate but wrapped his grieving little brother in his arms, aching that his youngest sibling, only just over seven hundred years, should know such pain. "I know, Balder," he whispered into his brother's ear. "I know."

_So much,_ Balder kept sobbing into Thor's shoulder. _So much._ The youngest son, so long estranged, was held securely in arms strong and kind. The tears of brothers mingled.

* * *

Tom hung back as Lillian tended to a library visitor at the checkout counter. Once the coast was clear, he strode forward and took the returned books she handed him. "Lillian," he began, "do you mind if I leave work a little early today? I shall be able to make up for the time later."

"What for?" his employer inquired.

"Well, I…" Tom hesitated and then continued. "There was a young lady, a girl, who came here some days ago. Madge. She is at the hospital right now, being treated for chemotherapy." Lillian gave a soft gasp and Tom quickly went on before she could interject. "I have offered to bring and return books from the library for her, since she cannot do it on her own. She is quite an avid reader."

"Oh," Lillian said. "Oh, she sounds like a wonderful girl. So sad that she has… you know. Of course you may go see her, Tom, only… may I come with you?"

"Well." Tom hesitated. Lillian was letting him go, after all, despite the odd hour. Was having her come with him all that bad? "Alright."

Lillian smiled. "No one is in the library right now. We'll just make certain to be back within the hour. Doable?"

"Certainly."

Tom retrieved the book bag he had prepared while Lillian set up the sign indicating apologies and the time of their return. Tom locked the doors and they walked to the hospital. Tom ducked out of view when he spotted Mrs. Lykke coming down the hall and waited until she was gone. "Madge's mother," he explained to Lillian. "A rather… distinctive character. Not exactly the sort I readily interact with."

Lillian frowned. "Yes, I know the Lykkes. I hope their daughter doesn't take much after them."

"She doesn't," Tom assured her. He opened the door. "Madge?"

The girl smiled, and something inside Tom lurched. Every golden hair the girl had once possessed was gone, and her cheekbones were already sinking in. She had changed a lot. A nurse walked past, and Tom could catch a whiff of vomit. Madge was not getting better.

Lillian was the one who knew what to do. She stepped forward, her face bright and kind. "Hello," she said, taking Madge's hand with her own. "I'm Lillian, the librarian."

"And I'm Madge," Madge replied, and her eyes sparkled with welcome, "the girl who loves going to the library."

"What a coincidence, so do I!"

They giggled, and Tom could feel his heart calm. Madge's frame, her form was weak, but those eyes held so much life. He smiled a little as Lillian stood next to Madge, their fingers entwining, appearing as grandmother and granddaughter who'd known each other for all life. He was glad to see they liked each other.

"Speaking of the library," Tom said, and set his bag upon a chair. He started neatly emptying its contents onto Madge's bedside table. "I thought you would appreciate some books to keep you company. You don't mind that I added some of my own selections to the lot?"

Madge gave no reply, and when Tom looked over at her uncertainly, her eyes were shining. "No, no I don't mind, Mr. Hemming," she said, her voice cracking. She smiled, and tears mixed with it. "You really care."

"Of course I do," Tom replied, and his voice was tender. "How could I do anything less?"

Madge sobbed and Tom fidgeted desperately, not knowing what to do. Lillian grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer to Madge, and the girl seized him in a fierce hug. His eyes popped, but he failed to escape Madge's grateful grip in the slightest. He didn't even try. "Thank you, Mr. Hemming," Madge whispered.

Tom stooped over and, shocking Lillian, placed a gentle kiss on top of Madge's bare head. "You're welcome, love," he said kindly. Tears were in his eyes, too.

Lillian marveled. Tom Hemming had been here in Storybrooke for thirteen years and no one had really tried to reach him. Or, like Lillian, they had just decided it was simply the way he was, and left it at that. And now children like Madge were claiming him as their own, and Lillian could see that it was a sentiment Tom found strange and precious.

They left a number of minutes later, and outside Lillian gave Tom a hug. He went stiff with surprise and stared at her incredulously when she stepped back. "I am so proud of you, Tom," Lillian said strongly, and found tears in her eyes as well.

Tom blinked. "What did I do?" he wondered.

"_That_ is being a friend, Tom," Lillian replied, smiling. "You've got it." Her phone beeped an alert and they both knew it was the signal for them to return to the library. Tom followed Lillian there, and she did not see the look of marvel upon his face as he mouthed the word_ friend_.

* * *

Hours had passed by the time Thor and Balder returned to the camp. Shares of the dinner had been left for them, but neither of the two hungered. The others had gone to rest, so the brothers continued their speech in low tones. They were not aware that Sif was still awake—for how could she sleep with this guilt?—and she listened.

"I cannot ever recall holding a true conversation with you, brother," Thor mused. "I was a fool for never realizing what I had missed."

"You were not the only fool," Balder replied. They sat alongside by the fire. Sif's eyes opened and fixed on the outlines of their backs against the fire.

"How soon until we reach the panthers' gateway?" Thor asked.

"At a steady pace, we ought to be there by noon of the day following tomorrow," Balder told him. Apprehensively he added, "And then we shall see how things be." He looked over at Thor. "You are afraid."

"Each time I have rediscovered Loki, he has fallen further, become something worse," Thor said, grief in his words. "And with that, my hopes for his redemption grow ever weaker. Yes, I fear what version of our brother we may find."

"At least we have found each other," Balder said. "In all truth, finally."

"A shame it took all our lives," Thor replied. He noticed Balder's head drooping. "Get some rest, Balder. You have worked yourself harder than all of us."

"It is a strange thing to have others helping me," Balder murmured softly. "Most times I am alone. And before that was fine. But since meeting Julia… Thor, loneliness is more than I can bear."

"We will find her," Thor vowed. "Together. Once this is over, I will help you search every corner of the Nine Realms and beyond, until you and your wife are reunited."

Sif's eyes widened and she withheld her gasp. Balder, married? And at so young an age? He seemed to have lost his wife, however, and that did explain much. Why this Asgardian, so young, had wearier eyes than any of them. He had walked alone for too long.

Balder went to sleep. Thor stood protectively over all of them, Mjolnir in his hands.

* * *

Henry stopped in at Mary Margaret and Emma's apartment before Regina came back to his own home. "Did you ever look up Loki?" he asked.

Emma shook her head, sorting laundry with Mary Margaret. "I haven't had time for that, Henry," she replied. "With Kathryn's fake murder, and your mom tangled up in all of it, it's just not been a priority." She noted Henry's disappointed look and asked him, "What's so important about a guy named Loki, anyway?"

"I can show you," Henry told her, and opened _Mixed Fables_ on the counter. Emma and Mary Margaret looked down at the picture of Loki and Rumplestiltskin, both interested.

"That looks a lot more violent than your fairytale book, Henry," Emma remarked. She set her unfolded towel on the counter.

"That's because it is," Henry replied matter-of-factly. "Tom Hemming—Loki's from a whole world of violence, it's what they do. Actually, two worlds; he was born on one and grew up in another. He looks human here, but he's not at all, he's something called a Jotun."

"What's a Jotun?" Mary Margaret asked. She tucked a hanger through the neck opening of the blouse she held.

"I don't know," Henry replied with a puzzled frown. "It has something to do with ice and giants, but it doesn't say much more than that."

"He doesn't look very icy here," Emma noted. Mary Margaret handed her the blouse and started folding the towel.

"His origins are a touchy subject, I think," Henry answered, shrugging. "Anyway, he's a powerful sorcerer; really bad news if he's still evil."

"Still?" Emma questioned.

Henry glanced down at his watch. "I have to get home before my mom does," he said, an anxious hint to his voice. "I'll leave the book here. Promise me you'll read it, Emma."

"Sure, Henry," Emma promised. Henry nodded and quickly ran out of the apartment. Emma closed the door and re-locked it. She mentioned August's offer to install a bolt-lock and Mary Margaret expressed enthusiasm.

Emma's friend looked back down at the still-open book on the counter, setting the neatly folded towel beside it. "Henry's really worried about Tom being Loki," she said. Her fingers traced a line across Loki's sharp and hateful features. "I can't see the resemblance."

"Because it's not him," Emma replied. She sat down next to Mary Margaret.

"I gotta admit, this worries me," Mary Margaret said honestly. "Right now Henry's convinced that Tom isn't even human—now, I won't argue that sometimes he acts inhuman, but that doesn't make him some kind of monster."

"I know what you mean," Emma replied. "Thinking Regina is the Evil Queen is one thing—and sometimes I'm inclined to agree with him, the way she acts—but to say that someone isn't even human? Yeah, it worries me."

"You're gonna have to talk to him about this sometime, Emma," Mary Margaret said. "Before he, or someone else, gets hurt."

Emma glanced over at the door Henry had left through shortly before. "There will be plenty of time for that when I get him away from Regina once and for all," she said seriously.

* * *

Tom moved quickly aside as a young man, whom Ruby had informed him was named August Booth, started his motorcycle and drove past. Where he could be going, Tom didn't know. He was already stepping inside the diner by the time Mr. Gold's Cadillac growled to life and followed after Booth.

"No Matthew?" Ruby asked as Tom took a seat along the counter.

Tom shook his head. "I haven't seen him today," he told her. It was strange; already it was becoming difficult for Tom to recall a time when Matthew hadn't been alongside. Was it already nearing two weeks since they had first met?

"That's not normal," Ruby said, her brow furrowing in concern. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Okay?" Tom blinked at her. It had not occurred to him that something could be wrong with Matthew. "Well, all was well with him yesterday…"

"Maybe you should check up on him," Ruby suggested. "I know where his house is, if you don't."

Tom glanced at the menu in his hand, then nodded and set it aside. "Yes, I would appreciate the address," he said. "I haven't known Matthew to stay away from me of his own accord." His lips twitched in an amused smile. "In fact, quite the opposite."

Ruby told him the street and house number, and Tom left. Granny stepped up alongside Ruby and blinked in amazement. "Did I just see what I thought I did?" she wondered aloud.

"That kid really has turned Tom around," Ruby said. Her grandmother nodded.

Outside, Tom blew out a long gust of air, and frowned slightly when it wasn't visible in the air. Winter really was ending. He mentally ran over the address Ruby had given him, and set off at a brisk walk.

It did not take long to find Matthew's house. The grand structure looked like a castle, complete with pointed towers and balcony. All black it was, with hints of gold catching what light there was in the street. Tom liked the design, but Matthew had to hate living here.

Tom went to knock on the front door, but then a window on the second storey was pushed open and Matthew poked his head out. "Mr. Hemming!" he hissed, and Tom wondered at the fear in the boy's face. "How did you find my house?"

"Ruby told me," Tom replied. "I haven't seen you at all today, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Matthew replied. He glanced nervously over his shoulder. "I'll stop by tomorrow or something. Just go away, please."

"Is something wrong, Matthew?" Tom asked. His brow furrowed worriedly, and another question nearly fell from his lips, but he bit it back, it was none of his business. Matthew looked back down at him and Tom was struck to the bone as he saw within the boy the same fear that had once dwelt in himself.

They stared at each other. A yell came from inside. "You need to go," Matthew whispered. "I'm fine, Mr. Hemming, but you need to go." He disappeared back inside, closing the window. Tom vanished into the yard's shadows before Matthew's father reached the window.

A black house full of rage, and Matthew trapped inside of it. Tom shuddered. There had to be something he could do, something to spare this boy his fate. His eyes fixed on the house across the street, an elegant building that declared wealth: Mr. Gold's home.

Tom wondered if he should. But no one, in all of this town, terrified him more than Mr. Gold. He didn't know why exactly, but Tom wasn't of the mood to question his instincts. He looked back over at Matthew's house and cursed himself for not trying to learn more about the boy, about his friend.

He waited, hesitating and wondering, until his ears could just catch the sound of a slap across the face. Matthew's face.

Something inside of Tom exploded with rage. This was wrong, _so wrong_, and a boy like Matthew never deserved what Tom had gotten in life. It was no longer about what Tom should do, it was about what he had to do.

There were many outhangs and rivets on the surface of the house, and that made Tom's scaling of it quick and simple. He could hear the father snarling hateful things at the boy and cringed, for all he could hear was his own childhood snarling at him. Fear gripped Tom's heart and he couldn't move, hanging below Matthew's window.

He heard Matthew's whimper, _Dad, please,_ cut off with a blow.

Tom pulled himself up and kicked the window in. Matthew's father spun around and stared, Matthew's bruised arm held in a death grip. It occurred to Tom that, before now, he had never seen Matthew in anything less than a long sleeved shirt. Another sign he shouldn't have missed.

"Who are you?" the older man barked.

"A friend," Tom replied, and was astonished that his voice reflected none of his fear within. "Matthew's friend. Unhand him."

"How I treat my boy is none of your business," Mr. Frog snarled.

"He's not your boy anymore," Tom replied flatly, and his blue eyes blazed with fire. "He's mine." His long fingers wrapped around a heavy bookholder on the desk and lifted. "Let. Him. Go."

"You can't—" Matthew's father lurched back as the bookholder flew from Tom's hand, releasing his hold on Matthew. The boy rushed over to Tom and hid behind him, eyes wide.

Matthew's father surged forward but then jerked to a halt before colliding with Tom's chest. Tom stood nearly a foot higher than him, though perhaps only half as wide. The dangerous glint to Tom's eyes was intimidating, and combined with the facial tattoos he appeared as a barbaric giant bent on vengeance.

Tom could feel the rage in him pounding at his temples, but then the hardness to his gaze faded, the rage digressed from its boil. He didn't want to hurt this man anymore. Take Matthew away from him, yes, but not hurt him.

"If you follow," he warned softly, keeping his voice low so that Matthew would not hear. "If you try to take this boy back into your hell… there is nowhere you can hide."

For the first time, Tom realized that people could be afraid of him too. He spun around, grabbed Matthew, and quickly climbed back down the front of the house. By that time Mr. Frog had recovered and came roaring down the stairs. Tom and Matthew reached for each other's hands and fled down the street.

"So, I guess I'm staying at your place?" Matthew panted.

"Ah." Tom realized that, for a change, he had not thought things through. "Yes." He looked over at Matthew. "Can you keep a secret?"

Matthew's eyes were nothing but pain and weariness as he looked back. "You're the first person to know about my dad," he replied. "What do you think?"

Tom stopped, so suddenly that Matthew jerked at the end of his hand, and looked down at his friend. "Matthew, I'm so sorry," he said. "I should have seen."

"That's okay," Matthew replied, not looking at him. "I should have, too." He blinked in surprise when Tom picked him up and carried him down the street. The assistant librarian's gruff explanation was that he could hardly allow his boy to run around in the night lacking shoes.

"Do you really mean that?" Matthew questioned, looking Tom in the eye. "That I'm your boy?"

"Every word," Tom replied. Matthew's arms coiled tightly around his neck and he rested his head on Tom's shoulder. Tom said nothing as Matthew's tears soaked into his jacket, continuing his brisk pace and wondering what on earth he was to do.


	14. Chapter 13

**_Author's notes:_**_ A very Tom/Matthew-centric chapter this time. Kept crying "I can't with you two" at the screen. Also, in which Lillian demonstrates what happens when a librarian is angered. Aw yeah!  
_

_A doodle vaguely inspired by the events of the previous chapter has surfaced on my blog. Um, Tom likes Lord of the Rings?  
_

**_Warnings:_**_ Graphic nightmares, mentions of abuse, some violence._

* * *

Tom let himself and Matthew into the library through his backdoor route and set the boy back on his feet. Matthew barely seemed to take notice of his surroundings, fearfully looking over his shoulder as though he expected his father to come bursting through the door. He stumbled a little, and flinched as Tom rested a hand on his shoulder.

"You're safe here, Matthew," he assured his friend. Matthew looked doubtful, as though _safe_ were a thing that no longer held meaning to him. "It's late," Tom continued, "let's get you cleaned up."

Matthew nodded and allowed Tom to gently steer him toward the bathroom. The assistant librarian lifted him up onto the small counter beside the sink, then opened a drawer and pulled out a First Aid kit.

"So, you… you live here?" Matthew asked. "In the library?"

"I prefer it to a house," Tom answered. "Though I imagine most people would protest of it. Hence it is a secret." He set the kit on the counter and opened it, rifling through in search of what would be needed. "Unbutton your shirt, I'll need to see what it looks like under there."

He glanced over at Matthew and saw, in the cold light of the bathroom, the spots of wet scarlet standing in contrast to the orange material of Matthew's pajamas. Tom's jaw clenched, and he had to remind himself he needed to speak with kindness as he offered Matthew substitute pajamas.

"That'd be nice," Matthew mumbled. His fingers trembled as he released the third button from his neck, and a sob hitched in his throat. Tom placed a hand over Matthew's two, feeling the tremors through his palm. "He had a crowbar," Matthew whispered. "He had a crowbar, and he was so angry. Mr. Hemming, was my dad going to…?"

Tom's other hand joined the first and he stepped in front of Matthew. He wasn't certain what he should do. Matthew's eyes were tightly shut as he hunched over, shaking. Tom's head bent as well, his forehead pressing against Matthew's.

"It doesn't matter now, Matthew," he whispered. "You're safe. You're safe."

Matthew flung his arms around Tom's neck, burying his face in Tom's neck. Tom wasn't startled. "I'm so scared, Mr. Hemming."

"That's alright," Tom murmured. His arms wrapped around Matthew, thumbs stroking rhythmically. "Everyone is afraid at some point. But you're safe now. He can't hurt you here."

Matthew nodded. He was crying again; Tom could feel the hot tears on his neck. Tom leaned back and carefully wiped Matthew's tears away. "I'll find you some pajamas," he told Matthew. "Wait here a moment."

"Okay," Matthew nodded. He hugged himself as Tom left, staring ahead at haunting images only he had seen. A father's face twisting from the love it once held, into a mask of unrecognizable rage. His own face, changing from open trust to overwhelming fear. Matthew buried his face in his hands.

Tom leaned against the wall in his room, his breath shallow and somewhat panicked. Closing his eyes, he firmly remind himself that he needed to remain calm, the last thing Matthew needed was for him to be frightened. "Oh, Thomas, what have you done?" Tom said wonderingly into the air.

He stepped forward and looked through his small collection of clothes and selected a t-shirt that was long and loose; it was one that Tom used during the hot summer nights. He slung it over his arm and went back to Matthew. Unfortunately, even as thin as Tom was, he did not have trousers small enough for Matthew.

When he got back, Matthew's shirt was set beside him and he was already placing the salve and bandages with expertise. Tom's fingers clenched as he took in the number of fresh cuts and bruises on top of the layers that riddled the boy's thin frame, the injuries his father had so well hidden.

Tonight could have been his exposure, though; the torn skin across most of Matthew's forehead would have seen to that. But then… well, Tom had gotten his own cuts across the face.

"Here," Tom said gently, pushing Matthew's arms to rest. "Let me." He soaked a cotton ball in peroxide—in fact, he had to soak several—and he was worried by the fact Matthew didn't make a sound. Not even a hiss. Tom finished applying the bandages and slipped his shirt over Matthew's head. It fell almost to the boy's knees. "I'm sorry, it's not your color," Tom apologized. For it was true; grey did not become Matthew in the least.

Matthew shook his head, a slight giggle issuing from him. "One minute you're carrying me down the streets to your library, the next you're apologizing for not having a shirt in my color," he said fondly. "You're so weird, Mr. Hemming."

Tom threw the bloodied pajamas into the trash and took Matthew by the hand, leading him along. "Follow me," he said, and Matthew gave a small nod. They went back to Tom's room, and for some reason Tom felt a hint of pride in sharing his little home with someone else. "It's small, I know," he said. "A bit like a Hobbit hole."

"A Hobbit hole?" Matthew questioned, puzzled by the unfamiliar words. Tom handed him a book, the one that began it all: _The Hobbit_.

"I haven't read it yet, although chronologically it's the first," he told Matthew. "You'll like it, Matthew: dragons and wizards, a terrific journey, dwarves and goblins and creatures that are found nowhere else but in these books."

A flicker of interest appeared in Matthew's eyes, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, examining the cover. Tom went back to the door and Matthew frantically grabbed at his arm. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I have to finish locking up the library," Tom told him. "You'll be alright in here, Matthew."

"No, please," Matthew begged. "I don't want… I don't want to be alone. Please let me come with you."

Tom hesitated, then offered his hand. Matthew took it, his brown fingers nearly turning white at the knuckles. Together they went through the library and finished closing everything down. Matthew paused as he found his beloved _Jungle Book_ once more and flipped through the illustrated pages. When he looked up Tom was gone.

Matthew found Tom shortly after in the mythology section, leaning up against a bookcase. "You scared me," Matthew told him as he looked down at Tom. "Don't leave like that again, Mr. Hemming. You can't do that anymore." He sat down next to Tom.

Tom had a slightly dazed look on his face, like he had been thinking too hard about things that weren't pleasant. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Matthew," he confessed. "I can't keep you here, not legally. Nor can I let you go back to your father, that would make me a worse beast than he is."

"My dad's not a beast," Matthew murmured. The turn to his lips was unhappy. Tom looked at him and seemed ready to speak, but Matthew shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this, Mr. Hemming. Not now."

"Very well," Tom replied softly. He rose to his feet and Matthew slipped his right hand into Tom's left, the very place where it belonged. The last lights in the library turned off and they retreated back into Tom's room with the single lamp.

Matthew crawled under the covers, seeming to recognize the blanket that was usually left folded in the corner where Madge liked to read. She didn't come to the library anymore, couldn't, but Tom set it there every morning anyway. Just in case. Matthew picked up _The Hobbit_—he had left it on the bed when he had gone with Tom—and opened it to the first page.

"Would you like me to read it to you?" Tom asked.

"I can read it myself," Matthew replied with a little smile. Yet still he nodded.

Tom slid in next to Matthew on the skinny bed, taking no care that he was still in his day clothes. He pulled the blankets up over their legs and opened _The Hobbit_ on his lap. Matthew hesitated before snuggling into Tom's side, and with a pang Tom remembered the time when he had so strongly craved an affectionate touch. Even a handshake would have done. He loosely wrapped an arm around Matthew, and the boy pressed in closer, as though Tom's thin frame provided shelter of some kind.

Tom cleared his throat a little and allowed his voice to slow into a calm, storytelling cadence as the first words rolled off his tongue. _"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort."_

Comfort. What an unfamiliar thing, to Tom and Matthew both, but was this… was this what they found now, covered by a blanket in a windowless room, given company by a book and a lone yellow lamp? Yes, Tom thought it might be comfort.

It took a great deal of time for Matthew to fall asleep. Tom knew he dropped off sometime after the riddle game, for he chuckled "what have I got in my pocket?" before falling wholly silent. Tom was on his back at this point, Matthew's head resting on his chest with his eyes peacefully closed. The look of distress was finally gone from him, at least for a time.

Tom's hand rested on the back of Matthew's head, and he noted how long his fingers seemed in proportion to the boy's scalp. He stroked the top of the head, a small smile on his lips, and he pulled a few black hairs from Matthew's face. Tears pricked at Tom's eyes as he realized something amazing: he had found someone to call his own.

Tom pulled the blankets up to Matthew's chin. He himself was still wide awake, so he opened _The Two Towers_. Into Middle Earth he went, watching as the fragments of the Fellowship drifted ever further apart, thinking that it reminded of something he felt he had experienced before, but couldn't possibly have.

At some point he realized he'd never gotten his dinner. Oh well, he wasn't hungry anymore. He didn't pay attention as the hands of the clock ticked past midnight and into the waking hours of the morning.

* * *

Tom was standing on a balcony. It was a place he didn't know, and yet it was eerily, horribly familiar. Glass crunched beneath his bare feet; it should have pierced and yet did not. Slowly, fearfully, he drew near to the fence and looked out.

It was a city. Manhattan. And it _burned_. Screams echoed in Tom's ears, he could see the futile few struggle against the tide of death. Fire, fire everywhere, and the bloody taste of betrayal. "What happened here?" he whispered.

There was a laugh behind him. "It's too late," came a silken voice that made Tom tremble with its _wrongness_. "It's too late to stop it. There is only The War."

Tom turned. On the peak of the balcony, regal and terrible, was a monster swirled in golden armor and robes of green. Bloody red eyes grinned at him from under a helmet's pointed brow.

"Who are you?" Tom asked. He recoiled as the monster stepped toward him. He could smell death on the air, as much of a cloak to this _thing_ as the long green fabric.

"I am you," the monster replied. Its serrated teeth seemed ready to tear apart Tom's flesh.

"No," Tom protested. "You could never be me. I could never do this."

"It is you who is the lie," the monster answered, and twisted its dark lips into a sneer. "Your façade world is crumbling. Soon now I will return."

Despair unfurled inside of Tom. He jerked as a hand gripped his ankle, and looked down. Tom was somewhere else, a place without windows. A man was leaning up against the wall, and Tom was relieved to see that this small fellow bore no resemblance to him.

Then he realized with horror that the man he looked down on was dying. Red spread out from his chest, a gaping wound. "No, no," Tom murmured frantically, dropping to his knees and vainly trying to cover the gash with his hands, blood seeping between his fingers. "Stay with me!"

"You're gonna lose," the man rasped. His face was indistinctive, bland even in his obvious pain. But his eyes were clear, piercing in a way that terrified, and Tom knew they could see _everything_ about them. Those eyes bore into Tom's face now. "It's in your nature."

"It is over," the monster growled, and when Tom turned he saw the blood of the stranger upon the monster's spear. "I have already won, mortal. Your world burns."

"You're gonna lose," the man echoed, as though not hearing the monster's cruel taunt. His eyes blaze with a cool fire, certain, confident. "You lack conviction."

The bloody eyes of the monster flared. The deep blue paled in fury, in fear. The man's eyes turned to Tom. "You lack conviction," he said to him also, and stopped breathing.

"No," Tom gasped. "No, stay with me! Stay with me!"

He screamed as he looked up and it wasn't the man anymore, it was Matthew, run through, and the spear was in Tom's hand. "_No!_" he cried in horror, flinging the weapon away, but his hands were dripping red.

The spear clattered to the floor. The monster picked it up. "My deeds," it said lightly, gesturing to the precious blood dripping from the spear's blade. "Your deeds."

"Never," Tom spat desperately. "You are not me, you are a nightmare, a figment of a tortured mind. You. Are. Not. Real."

They were inside now, looking out at the balcony from the beginning as Tom dangled by his throat from the monster's hand. The dead blue charred his skin. "You will fall before me," the monster vowed. "You have no strength! I will return in full wrath."

"I am real," Tom choked. "You are but a bad dream."

The monster howled into his face, its expression twisted with rage and then, mocking him, it laughed. Tom was thrown through the window, glass shattering and seeming to float as he fell, fell, his dripping red hands searing into his eyes…

* * *

Tom jerked awake, soaked in sweat and trembling. Matthew was gone, where was he?! Frantic, the assistant librarian vaulted out of bed and opened the door in almost the same movement. There was the sound of retching coming from the bathroom, and it was there that Tom went.

Matthew was done by the time Tom opened the door, sitting weakly on the floor. Tom flushed the toilet and grabbed a washcloth and wiped the remnants of bile from Matthew's mouth. A second was soaked in cool water and put to his sweaty forehead. "Did you eat something foul?" Tom asked.

Matthew shook his head. "No, I…" His eyes closed. "It was a nightmare. Sometimes I get so scared that I'm sick. Sissy, huh?"

"No," Tom replied. "Not at all." He stayed with Matthew for a while longer, until they were both certain that his stomach had settled. Tom brought him back to the room and gave him _The Hobbit_ and a few other books that seemed to be to Matthew's sort of liking.

"I'm going to get you some clothes," he told Matthew, picking up his satchel. "Can't exactly have you running around in my T-shirt all day and night, can we? Besides, that grey really isn't your color."

That got a twitch of a smile from Matthew, though it was weak. Tom grabbed a bandana and quickly tied it to mask his less than perfectly clean hair.

"Once I'm back, we can get cleaned up and go to breakfast. You'll be alright until then?"

Matthew nodded. Tom instructed him to open the door for no one—only Tom had a key—and then he left.

* * *

Balder was somewhat embarrassed to find he had awoken after everyone else. "I had begun to think the pair of you wouldn't return at all," Fandral remarked, looking at the two Odinsons.

"They returned," Hogun replied. "I stood watch and saw them come."

"Ever observant you are, Hogun," Balder commented. He pulled his blanket aside and rolled to his feet, quickly beginning to fold and roll up his blanket, putting his pack back together.

Thor frowned as he looked up at the dark sky. "Rain," he predicted.

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem," Fandral said. "We have you with us, Thor."

Thor chuckled lightly. "I can create thunderclouds and whirlwinds, Fandral, but I cannot force nature to abandon its decided path."

Fandral frowned. He did not have a particular fondness for rain; it wasn't kind to his moustache. Balder smiled lightly. He then thought of the book and emptied his satchel, searching for any weak points in the bag that could cause the book to become wet. He found none, and set the maps back in. The book he unwrapped, debating whether there was time for reading any more.

Well, the rain did look as though it would last for a great deal of time. Balder finished packing and opened the book when he saw that others, namely Thor and Volstagg, were still occupied. He did not know that they were talking about him.

Balder had often drawn the short straw of life's fortunes. But on this day, this once, he was smiled on, and given what he sought. The page he opened the book to was about the very blade strapped to his side: Excalibur, gift from Arthur.

Balder shouldn't have been surprised that there was a section of Rumplestiltskin's book dedicated to the famed blade, but he was. But more importantly, there was a part of the pages recording details of the scabbard.

And Balder finally understood. His eyes closed as his fingers tightly gripped the opposite covers of the book, digging shallow holes. While before he had been bewildered—and frightened—by his lack of knowledge over what was happening to him, now that it was explained… well, there went his last hopes. It was only a matter of time.

"Balder?"

Balder started and looked over. There was Thor. Balder looked down as a large drop of rain struck Rumplestiltskin's book in its center. Balder quickly closed the book and wrapped it up, stowing it away into the waterproof satchel.

Not a moment too soon, for then the heavens opened and generously bestowed the coldest rain they could muster. Fandral scowled as water dripped off his drooping mustache. "This is going to be _miserable,_" he grumbled.

Sif looked up, thinking briefly that perhaps if it rained hard enough, it could wash her away. She tightened the saddle around her horse's belly and swung up, the leather creaking. She could barely hear herself think for the force of the rain.

Thor was having to calm Sigr, who, like Fandral, did not like cold, wet rain _at all_. Needless to say, the magnificent white beast was not pleased. Finally Thor persuaded the stallion to allow himself to be saddled.

Balder was saddling Skjótr, smiling lightly as the horse butted him with its head. He and the grey did not mind rain particularly much; after all, this was nothing compared to storms near to the sea. Balder knelt to lift his pack from the ground, and unintentionally winced.

Volstagg was the only one who saw. "I see you dislike the rain as much as Fandral," he chuckled, but then paused. "Or is it something else that causes your grimace?"

"It is nothing," Balder answered hastily. It was too late, however; Thor had heard the words and came rushing towards him, slipping in the mud that had already formed. He stood up, face creased in worry.

"Balder, are you hurt?" he asked.

"No, though the same may not be said for you," Balder replied exasperatedly. "Now, get on your horse, or Sigr might run off without you just to get out of this rain." So saying, he swung lightly up onto Skjótr's back. Pain stabbed from within and drove the breath out him completely, and he fell back off, crashing into the mud. Skjótr sidestepped quickly to avoid harming his master, hooves pulling out of the swimming soil with a some difficulty.

"Balder? Balder!" Thor was in the mud beside Balder, lifting him to a sitting position. Sif, Hogun, and Fandral circled their steeds back toward the other half of their group.

Balder grimaced again, hand over his abdomen. "Well, that was embarrassing," he grunted.

"Balder, what's wrong?" Thor asked frantically.

"It's nothing, Thor—"

Volstagg was having none of that. His hand gripped Balder's arm and held it up, and Thor's brow furrowed in confusion as his fingers brushed across the speckles of gray. "Balder, what is this?" Thor demanded worriedly. He could barely feel it through his rain-numbed fingertips, but it mostly certainly was not skin. "Balder, is this… stone?"

"I had hoped to keep it hidden," Balder said grimly. He struggled out of both Thor and Volstagg's grips and stood up, staggering as the mud clung to his boots.

"You hope to keep much hidden," Hogun observed. Sif's eyes were wide as she realized the implications of Balder's condition.

"You weren't foraging for food," Fandral realized. "Medicinal plants, that's what you were looking for!"

"Balder," Thor choked, realizing the truth. "Did you take my curse? Take everyone's curse?"

"Not Bagheera's," Balder said mournfully. His blue eyes were heavy as he pulled his hood over his head. The rainfall echoed in his ears. "Bagheera's I couldn't take."

"Then you are… you are turning to stone," Thor said numbly. "Surely there is something…"

"No." Balder shook his head. "In truth I ought to have become a statue before you awoke, but blessed are the gifts of friends." He touched the belt at his side. "Arthur, who gave me the blade I now carry, told me that the scabbard had the power to protect the wearer from harm. I've never put much stock in that, considering the number of scrapes and bruises I've collected, but now I begin to understand it protects from greatest harm."

"Then there is hope," Volstagg said.

"No," Balder replied softly. "No, this only buys a little time. A little time before the inevitable." His eyes closed. "I only hope it is enough, enough to find her..."

"Balder." Thor could feel hot tears on his cheeks. "Thank you. I do not deserve your aid."

"Nor do I deserve your love," Balder replied. "Come, comrades, we must go. I haven't much time to waste."

Balder determinedly mounted Skjótr a second time. Thor and Volstagg helped him keep his seat until he was steady, then mounted their own steeds. Balder's teeth clenched, vision swimming as his white knuckles gripped the slick saddle horn.

* * *

Tom selected a third shirt to go with the two pairs of trousers he'd selected for Matthew. Two pairs of black jeans, with shirts of red, orange, and green to go with. Colors that would match Matthew, unlike drab grey. Tom had made certain they were all long-sleeved.

He set the shirt carefully in his basket and changed his direction to where the shoes were placed. He was walking down the aisles, searching for the size Matthew wore, when he felt that someone was behind him. Someone angry.

Tom quickly spun around, and stumbled back when he realized it was Mr. Frog. The other man was much more frightening in the full light of day, broad-shouldered and thick-necked and the complete opposite of Matthew. Rage burned in his eyes.

"Where is my son?" he demanded, keeping his voice low.

Tom cursed his frantic heart. "He is safe," he replied, and added, "Safe from _you_."

Mr. Frog growled. Tom slowly backed away. He bumped into a few boxes of shoes; glancing down, he saw they were correct size and make for Matthew. He took a pair of black running shoes and set those in his basket as well.

"You can't hide him from me," Mr. Frog snarled.

"I will hide him from you however long I must," Tom replied, and marveled at the levelness in his voice. "I know your type, Mr. Frog, know the thoughts that go through your twisted semblance of a mind."

"Please," Mr. Frog said, and his voice turned desperate. He was begging. "I just want to talk to him. If he can just understand—I wasn't myself!"

"You have not been yourself much too often!" Tom spat, his teeth baring angrily into Mr. Frog's face. He felt a thrill of satisfaction when the man recoiled. Taking advantage of the moment, Tom ran from the aisle, dodging until he lost Mr. Frog.

Slowing to a walk, he gave a curt nod to the cashier and purchased his items. She smiled. "For your son?" she asked.

"Yes," Tom replied briefly, picking up the bags and box and setting them inside his empty satchel. He hurried out of the shop.

Mr. Frog saw him departing and rushed after, but his toe caught and he fell to his face. He turned to snap furiously at the clumsy oaf who had tripped him, but the words froze in his throat when his eyes met Mr. Gold's.

Mr. Gold lifted his eyebrows in a nearly comical expression of surprise. "Pardon me, I didn't see you," he said courteously. There was an amount of bite to his words, as though he were disgusted by the person with whom he spoke. "Mr. Frog, isn't it?"

Mr. Frog nodded. Mr. Gold gave him a humorless smile and walked past; Mr. Frog rose and looked to the door. Tom was gone, and Mr. Frog's chance of locating his son with him. It wasn't until later that it occurred to him how strange it was for Mr. Gold to be looking through the _children's_ shoes.

* * *

"Tom, are you okay?" Lillian gave her assistant a concerned look as she took in his haggard appearance. Though he seemed odd to some in appearance, Tom always kept himself neat and professional. In fact, his professional appearance was something Tom prided himself on.

Apparently he had forgotten that pride today; still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, the unbrushed ends of his hair flying out from under a bandana, and the barest hints of scruff poking out from his chin.

Tom hid the satchel hanging from his shoulder behind his back. "My apologies, Lillian," he said, self-consciously pulling the wrinkles out of his cardigan. "I didn't seem to get much sleep last night."

"I can tell," Lillian replied. "What kept you up?"

Tom hesitated, tugging at a gold hoop. "It, mm, it's rather personal," he said hesitantly.

"Spit it out, Tom," Lillian said kindly. "It might turn out in your favor."

"Yes, but it also may not," Tom pointed out. He sighed. "It is my… friend, Matthew."

"What about him?" Lillian asked.

"I believe, last night… I think I might have kidnapped him."

Lillian's eyebrows lifted. "Ah, so that's who you invited over to your place," she said.

Tom started. "You know?" he asked in shock.

"Tom, I've always known," Lillian replied with patience, and no small amount of amusement. "With the bills, and the fact you've never asked for a raise in thirteen years… it's more than a little obvious."

Tom felt very silly. He laughed nervously. Lillian smiled too, her eyes crinkling pleasantly in the way that they did, but then her expression become serious.

"If I may ask, Tom, why _did_ you bring him here?"

Tom stared down at the floor, uncertain. The fingers of his left hand tightened around the canvas of the satchel. "What else could I do?" he seemed to ask her. Lillian's heart was stabbed by the worry and desperation in the man's voice. "His father was beating him, and all I could think of was my own childhood." He didn't notice Lillian's horrified gasp. "I didn't escape from that for eleven years. I couldn't leave Matthew to the same fate."

"Tom, you… and Matthew? Both of you?" Lillian's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, boys, I'm so sorry."

"It's not anything you did, Lillian," Tom replied softly. His eyes lifted when she placed a hand over his.

"Do you mind if I come with you?" she asked. "To see how Matthew's doing?"

"It's your library, Lillian," Tom said with surprise.

Lillian laughed quietly. "Oh, I only work here, Tom," she replied.

They went back to the room and Tom opened the door. Matthew looked up, fear flashing through his gaze before he realized it was his friend. "Lillian's here, too," Tom told Matthew. "It, ah, it appears she knew about my so-called secret all along."

"Hey, Ms. Williams," Matthew said, waving. Lillian made a keening noise in her throat when she saw the bruises and cuts riddling the boy's arms. Matthew ducked his head in shame and hid his arms behind his back.

"I'm so sorry, Matthew," Lillian said. "We all should have seen this."

Matthew shrugged awkwardly. Tom set the satchel on the bed and knelt down to open it. "I hope these will suffice," he said.

"Sure," Matthew said. He selected a shirt and pants, as well as taking the shoes, and Tom set aside the rest to wash. Matthew picked up the clothes and went to the bathroom.

"I'm afraid I'll be late for work, Lillian," Tom remarked as he closed and locked the door to his little room. "Matthew and I are planning to wash up and go for breakfast."

"Take your time," Lillian told him. "This is better work you're doing here. I'll hold down the fort."

"I'll finish unlocking everything at least," Tom said. "Matthew will need time for a shower, after all." He turned and started walking to the other side of the library, and on his way there nearly collided with Mr. Frog.

"I heard you worked here," said Mr. Frog. "_Where is my son?_"

"Do keep your voice down, Mr. Frog," Tom replied smoothly. He didn't _sound_ as if he'd suffered a heart attack. "This is a library, not a pub." He choked slightly as Mr. Frog grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, double-fisted.

"_I will do as I please!_" he roared. "Where is my _son?!_"

"You lost the right to call him your son when you reduced him to a _punching bag!_" Tom roared back. "Now, get out of my way and learn respectable conduct, or I shall have to force you to leave."

"You can't make me go anywhere, you little string," Mr. Frog spat. "I'll tie you up in a knot and keep twisting until—"

"Until I kick your evil hide out of my library!" Lillian snapped. Mr. Frog stepped back in surprise and then found himself bent over and struggling to release his ear from Lillian's pincer grip. Tom released a short laugh of surprise.

"If you ever treat my employee like that _again_, Mr. Frog, I will speak to Sheriff Swan!" Lillian threatened, and Tom knew she meant it in earnest. "See how you like spending a night in a cold cell! Tom, open the doors."

Tom did so and Lillian veritably threw Mr. Frog into the street. "And stay out!" she called sharply.

Tom closed the doors and looked over at Lillian in amazement. "Remind me to never get on your bad side, Lillian," he said.

"You could never get on my bad side, Tom," Lillian replied, and smiled kindly. "You're my boy."

_You're my boy._ Wasn't that the very thing Tom had said to Matthew the previous night? Why had it taken him so long to see that what he had longed for, searched for, been too afraid to ask for, was right here all this time?

"Lillian… thank you."

Lillian smiled briefly. Her head turned. "That's the bathroom door; Matthew's done with his shower." Tom stepped back, but Lillian caught his arm. "Tom, you do realize this is going to get us all into serious trouble," she said. "Unless somehow you can take custody of Matthew, but you have no claim on him, and no qualifications for raising him. The foster care system does not approve of kids living in libraries."

"And Matthew's father knows where I work now," Tom said worriedly.

"Good thing he doesn't know you live here," Lillian added. "Though it won't be long before he starts setting the town on us."

"Matthew can't be reported missing for, what? Another twenty-four hours?" Tom pondered. "That gives us some time."

"I have an idea that could help, but I don't know if it will work."

"Anything is better than nothing, Lillian," Tom told her. "Especially in this case."

Lillian nodded. Tom walked quickly away, grabbing his clothes from his room and taking a second to say hello to Matthew. The boy was already curled up with _The Jungle Book_ (which Tom suspected he would never grow tired of), cocooned in Tom's blanket.

Tom hurried through his shower. He was buttoning up his jeans when there was a knock on the door and Matthew's voice, slightly muffled, asked if Tom was decent. "Yes," Tom affirmed.

Matthew stepped in. He was wearing the black jeans and the deep green shirt, which Tom hadn't expected him to choose. Tom's friend giggled at him. "And I thought I was skinny," he remarked. Tom shook his head slightly, leaning toward the mirror as he reinserted his gold earrings. "Cool tattoos, though," Matthew complimented. "The one over your heart looks different from the rest."

"That is because it is not from the same set," Tom said, glancing via the mirror at the intrinsic design upon his chest. "The color is teal; sometimes it appears green, sometimes blue."

"Cool," Matthew said. "So, you like the whole tattoo thing? I hear it hurts."

"Not as much as some things," Tom replied mildly. He picked up a folded black cardigan and pulled it over his head, straightening it down his slender frame. His green scarf loosely looped around his throat, completing the outfit. Tom's hair was still slightly damp, but didn't appear so, and that was well enough.

"Well, Matthew," Tom said as he turned to his friend. "Breakfast."

Matthew smiled a little. "Now we look like each other," he said. Their fingers locked together like two halves of a steel trap.


	15. Chapter 14

_**Author's notes:** Hold on, there's some emotion in my eye. No, shoot, it's in both of them. Hang on a moment..._

_Guys, thank you so much for all of the reviews. They are the most wonderful things. You are are Beautiful People, Each and Every One of You. The capitalization is for emphasis. All these kind reviews are just so lovely and you're all so lovely and smart and I just have the best readers in the entire world, okay? My entire family can stand witness to the fact that I keel over and start squeeing happily about you all. It is such an honor and I am not worthy.  
_

_Anyhoo, about this chapter? More of Matthew and Tom gleefully attacking the heartstrings, additional background characters being important (yay!), an introduction or two, and Lillian's still cashing in her Epic Librarian points.  
_

_Oh! And I sort of drew a cover for _Green & Gold, _and by tomorrow a cropped and edited version should be visible here. The full-sized one dwells on my Tumblr in all of its humble glory. Rumplestiltskin's outfit turned out to be just as ridiculous to draw as Loki's and that really is ridiculous. Well, onward ho!_

_**Warnings:** abuse in the past tense. No Balder. Whaaaaaaat._

* * *

Ruby gave Tom and Matthew a friendly smile as they came in. Tom directed Matthew to one of the booths on the other side of the diner and stayed by the counter to quickly place an order for them both. Ruby sent their order into the kitchen and came back out with a tray of clean glasses. "I see you found Matthew," Ruby observed as she started placing white mugs on their appropriate shelf. "Did you ever find out where he was yesterday?"

Tom nodded, and then sighed. His entire form sagged with the movement. "Ruby, I think I need your help," he confessed, sinking into a stool.

Ruby gave him a sidelong look. "What for?" she asked. She called a cheerful hello to a customer as they entered, and gestured to the other waitress to see to them.

"Matthew's father is abusive," Tom said bluntly, but he took care to keep his voice low. "Matthew came to school with bruises, said he fell down the stairs." He shook his head. "I should have seen the signs."

Ruby nearly dropped the mug in her hands. "Oh god," she whispered in horror. She governed herself, eyes grim as she set the mug onto the counter. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Tom admitted. "I can only go at this a step at a time, but it won't be long before that isn't enough." He didn't allow himself to bury his face in his hands. "When I found out last night, I confronted Matthew's father and took Matthew away. The man has dogged me twice today already."

Ruby stared at him, and the boy seated in the booth across the room. "You kidnapped Matthew?" she hissed.

"Is it kidnapping when they come along willingly?" Tom asked. He frowned, vexed with the situation and himself. "Yes, I kidnapped him. I couldn't leave him there, Ruby, not for any reason."

Ruby picked up the mug again and this time succeeded in putting it away. She moved onto the glasses for juices and sodas. "You could talk to Emma," she suggested.

"Yes, our only law enforcer in this entire town," Tom said, sarcasm lending bite to his words. "But that way depends on Matthew testifying against his father."

"Why wouldn't he?" Ruby wondered. Her expression was puzzled.

"Because he loves his father," Tom replied. "I remember I did."

"You, too?" Ruby seemed dismayed, and her eyes softened with pity.

"Yes," Tom nodded shortly, uncomfortable that the conversation was becoming about him. "It's why I came here in the first place. But now it's Matthew I am concerned for. He's trapped, Ruby, but I don't know that he'll ever say. He probably believes it's his own fault. I know I did."

"So talk to him," Ruby said. She picked up the last glass from the tray and set it where it belonged. "You've been where he is right now. Tell him the truth. His father is a danger to his life."

"I know," Tom sighed. "But Ruby, what am I to do? If Matthew's taken away from his parents, where will he go?"

"Where else?" Ruby replied, giving Tom a pointed look. "Matthew would sooner jump into a tar pit than be separated from you, I can see how much he loves you."

Tom blinked at her, then said in bewilderment, "But _why_ does he love me?"

"Do you really need a reason?" Ruby responded. She tucked the tray under her arm. "Talk to Matthew, Tom. Seriously, he looks really lonely over there."

Tom nodded and left. He slid in across from Matthew at the booth. "Matthew?"

Matthew looked up and saw the serious expression on Tom's face, a mixture of sorrow and understanding. He set aside his glass of orange juice. "Yeah?" he responded carefully.

They leaned back as a different waitress, not Ruby, placed their orders on the table: steaming waffles and pancakes; warm syrup and butter to go with each. Tom's glass of iced tea was already present.

"We need to talk," said Tom. "About your father."

"It's not that bad," Matthew said immediately, nervously fiddling with his fork and knife. "He's just, it's not a good time right now…"

"He's hurting you, Matthew," Tom said flatly, and Matthew cringed. Tom unwrapped the napkin cushioning his silverware. "It is not your fault and you do not deserve it. And I know what you're thinking: that it's just a phase, a hard time for him, that you bring it on yourself anyway, that he still loves you and someday everything will be okay again."

Matthew was speechless. The fork and knife fell from his numb fingers onto the table and he stared down at his knees in silence. A hint of a bruise poked beyond the cuff of his sleeve.

"It won't be okay," Tom said quietly, and rarely had he spoken with so much sincerity. "It will never be okay, not like this. I believed for ten years that everything would be okay again, _ten years_, Matthew. And it never was. When I turned eighteen I had to run away, because I finally realized there never really was another way. Matthew, you cannot, must not, live with an abusive father for another eight years."

"But he didn't use to," Matthew said miserably.

"I know," Tom replied. He reached his right hand across the table and lifted Matthew's chin, holding his troubled gaze. "Oh Matthew, I know. Neither did my—did my father. But it all went wrong, and it never went right again. It wasn't my fault then and it isn't your fault now. Matthew, you still have the chance to do something, because this…" His fingers brushed Matthew's arm, and the boy shuddered. "This is never okay."

Matthew's eyes closed. "I just wanted it to be good again," he whispered. "Just like it used to."

"I know, Matthew," Tom answered. "And this will be a start."

Ruby came to them and set two boxes and two cups on the table. "I just got a call from Emma," she said. "Mr. Frog's at the station right now; in the next few minutes I need to post notices about Matthew, so you had better scram."

Tom glanced over at Matthew as he pulled the necessary funds from his wallet. "I guess this means we're taking our breakfast to-go," he remarked. Ruby took the payment and promptly left.

"She wasn't supposed to tell us that, was she?" said Matthew.

"Sometimes, Matthew, it is best to know as little as possible," Tom replied. He quickly transferred his waffles to a box and the tea into one of the transportable cups. Matthew did the same. They stacked their dishes in an orderly fashion and left.

"Well," Tom said as they stepped outside. "Let's see how Lillian has done."

But when they got to the library, the front doors were locked, and Lillian wasn't there. At the desk, a note had been left for Tom: _Working an angle. Will call when I've got something. –Lillian_

"Well, that is certainly mysterious," Tom said.

"What can Ms. Williams do?" Matthew asked. There was a hint of doubt to his voice.

"I don't know," Tom replied, "but considering I saw her throw a full-grown man out of the library this morning, I think a more appropriate question to ask would be: what _can't_ Ms. Williams do?"

* * *

"You can do this, Lillian," Lillian tried to motivate herself as she lifted the phone to her ear and dialed. "You can do this."

"Albert Spencer," a voice barked on the other end.

"Hey Albert, it's Lillian," Lillian said, trying to force some cheer into her voice and tell herself that _no, I am not afraid of the man I beat at chess every Tuesday._

Albert was not pleased, which wasn't surprising. The man was an awfully sore loser. "Lillian, this phone number is for business calls only, not for _chess_—"

"You want business?" Lillian bit. "How about a child beater, is that business enough for you, Mr. District Attorney?"

Albert's protestations were cut short. "I'm listening," he said.

"You know where I live now?" Lillian asked. Albert made a curt sound of confirmation. "Good. Meet me there in twenty minutes."

She hung up the phone and mentally high-fived herself for not panicking. Then she quickly locked the front doors of the library and set the sign for an approximate return time. Twenty minutes gave her ten minutes to get back home and ten minutes to make it look like she hadn't been frantically running the entire way.

* * *

Sif rode solidly in her horse's saddle. She had no name for this beast, though it was certainly worthy of one. However, Sif's mind was too heavy with the guilt of deeds gone wrong for her to think of things like that. She journeyed in silence, for none spoke to her and she was not worthy to speak to them.

In addition, this rain was a horrible hindrance for conversation. Everyone loathed it, even Balder and his stallion, who apparently were both used to this sort of weather.

It was Volstagg who rode alongside Sif now, Volstagg who wore his great heart upon his sleeve. On that sleeve Sif could see the pain she had brought down on him, and yet also she could see on his sleeve the kindness that never seemed to depart.

"Sif," Volstagg said quietly, and she looked over in surprise, for she hadn't expected this oppressive silence toward her to be broken so soon. "This will not be forever."

"What are you saying?" Sif asked. She couldn't understand. Volstagg's heart was ever in the open, and she could not understand.

"I know why you made the deal with Rumplestiltskin," Volstagg said, and Sif's heart stopped. "It was for Thor."

"Everything is for Thor," Sif responded, but she was not embittered toward the prince.

"That is not what I mean," Volstagg answered, and still his voice was kind, so kind it burned Sif inside. "You may not realize it yourself, Sif, but your love for Thor goes deeper than comradeship."

Sif's eyes closed as she saw that her internal struggle had not been so well hidden. "Yes," she confessed. It was only rain on her face, only rain... She felt Volstagg's hand settle on her shoulder.

"It is a heavy burden, to be so full and unrecognized," Volstagg said.

"I cannot complain," Sif replied, and straightened. "I must not complain."

Volstagg's smile held shades of pity. Sif sank deeper into her misery.

* * *

Matthew folded his legs and sat, obviously intending to finish his breakfast. "Why don't we go down to the docks?" Tom suggested. "They are often empty at this time. I have lunch there most Saturdays." His mention of Saturday brought to mind his promise of helping Lillian move into her new home. Time had certainly taken to flying these days.

"The docks?" Matthew paused thoughtfully. "I don't think I've ever been down there before. It sounds cool to me."

"Very well, it is agreed," Tom decided. He retrieved a lidded, rectangular basket to set their breakfasts in, and together they left the library. Matthew's hand fit snugly inside of Tom's, and the boy cheerfully swung their arms as they walked.

They took a wandering route that brought them through places often untrod. Unfortunately, the main routes had to be braved eventually, and they hadn't even gone a block down such a road when Matthew hissed and ducked behind a wide-trunked tree. Tom glanced warily between Matthew and the boy he was apparently hiding from. "Who is that?" he inquired.

"Jackson Young, and he is a spoiled rich _jerk_," Matthew said vehemently. "His sole purpose in life is to kill everyone else's fun."

Tom looked across at the boy, who was leaning up against a wall playing with a yoyo. He appeared to be about the same age as Matthew, his fiery red hair viciously combed and slicked down, and plenty of freckles spattering his face, most prominently around his nose. He looked as though he should be the center of a mischief-making band, not playing alone.

"Perhaps he kills your fun because you will not allow him to partake in it," he suggested.

Matthew paused. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, and considered Tom's words. He shook his head. "Nah, Jackson's just a jerk. And if he sees me, he'll tell. I know he will."

Tom looked across at Jackson and Jackson looked back, and Tom decided not to say what had already been established: Jackson had seen, and he knew who Tom was speaking with. His eyes were green and they teased at trouble.

Tom pulled a notebook from his pocket. "Sometimes people can surprise you," he said to Matthew. "You've certainly surprised me." He clicked his pen and wrote for a moment, then tore the sheet from his notebook.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked. Tom shrugged and folded the paper into a plane.

"Inviting someone to partake," he said, and launched the plane. Jackson leaped up—the boy was quite nimble—and caught the plane easily.

"Are you _crazy,_ Mr. Hemming?" Matthew cried in disbelief, and there was a look of betrayal in his eyes. "He'll tell!"

"No, I won't."

Matthew spun around. Jackson was suddenly right beside him; the boy was indeed nimble. Matthew glared at him distrustfully. "You always tell," he stated.

"Not this time," Jackson promised. "This time wouldn't be funny." He looked over at Tom. "You make good paper airplanes," he complimented, and lifted the one in his hand. "I'll just keep this. See ya."

He walked off. Matthew scowled. "This is gonna blow up in our faces," he grumbled.

"No, not this time," Tom said certainly. "Jackson seems to love trouble, but not the kind that would come if he were to tell. He's smart, he'll keep quiet."

"I'm just saying, you don't know Jackson Young." Matthew was still glaring, even though Jackson had long since passed out of sight.

"Come on, Matthew, let's get to the docks," Tom chuckled, and Matthew trotted after the swiftly walking librarian's assistant. The shoreline came in sight and Tom breathed in the salty air with relish, a smile teasing at his lips as the gusty wind pulled his hair every which way.

The docks, like the library, was one of the handful of places in Storybrooke that Tom never grew weary of, and always felt at ease. Some Saturdays, he would spend the whole day here, wandering along the beach until after the sun had vanished.

However, the particular dock Tom had preference for, the one that was almost always empty, was occupied. A man stood on the end, looking out to sea with a melancholy air. Tom quickly indicated for Matthew to hide and the boy did so.

"Good day," Tom called, his voice stiff.

The man turned, quickly wiping his face with a coat sleeve. Evidently he had been crying, and now Tom felt horribly awkward. Nolan, wasn't that his name? David Nolan. Tom couldn't recall ever talking to the man, but something about him was irritatingly familiar. How would the fellow look like with a mustache, he found himself wondering.

"Hello," Nolan replied, shifting his stance with some awkwardness. "You're, um…"

"Tom Hemming," Tom introduced himself.

"Hemming, right," Nolan nodded distractedly. Gull cries echoed overhead.

"What are you doing out here, Mr. Nolan?" Tom inquired, setting the picnic basket on a bench built into the dock.

"Trying to clear my head, I guess," Nolan shrugged. He seemed a bit hopeless.

Tom tried not to frown. Clearing heads meant that Nolan would be on Tom's dock for quite some time more. Well, it wasn't _Tom's_ deck, per se, but that was beside the point… "What troubles you?" he surprised himself by asking.

Nolan sighed heavily, sitting down on the bench. Tom remained standing. "I've hurt someone I care about," Nolan said. "Broken her trust. Again."

"I know the feeling," Tom said.

"Breaking trust?"

"Having trust broken." Tom's stare was grim.

"Oh." Nolan blanched. His throat had probably gone dry, too, going from its frantic working. "I'm sorry. Maybe you can help me, Mr. Hemming. How can I—how was that trust mended?"

"It wasn't," Tom said flatly. "Now, pardon me, Mr. Nolan, I believe I need to be elsewhere."

"No, I'm sorry," Nolan apologized a second time. "That was… I'm sorry. You obviously intended to come out here for breakfast, and meet someone, too, I'll just go think somewhere else." He quickly stepped past.

"Mr. Nolan."

Nolan turned and looked back at Tom in query. Tom's gaze was bordering on baleful. "Stop wasting time with pointless apologies," he told the man harshly. He wasn't comfortable to be saying these things, but perhaps it could help. "True actions do a lot more to mend trust than words do. They also can do a lot more damage."

Nolan hesitated, his mouth opening slightly. Perhaps he was about to ask a question. Tom glared at him to dissuade the thought. "Thank you," Nolan decided to say, and left.

Matthew came out of hiding, looking in the direction Nolan had gone. "That's Mr. Nolan," he said. "He works at the animal shelter. What were you talking with him about?"

Tom shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said, and sat down on the bench, feeling it rock with the motion of the waves. Matthew sat on the other side of the basket, like Nolan had.

"It moves," Matthew said in surprise, looking around.

"It's the water," Tom explained. "This dock is designed to float." It was the reason it was one of Tom's favorites: he liked the rise and fall.

"Cool," Matthew said. He seemed pleased. They removed their takeout boxes from the basket and reopened them. Matthew brandished his plastic fork playfully and engaged in a brief round of fencing against Tom. Tom felt a smile tug at his lips as the spines of their forks locked and they both struggled to part. Tom's smile finally broke through when Matthew laughed. It was a sound he had been missing.

"Cold pancakes are good, too," Matthew said, sounding surprised.

"And waffles," Tom agreed. "If they are cooked right, and Granny's has yet to cook anything wrong."

Matthew leaned back against the rail, picking up his cup of still-chilled orange juice (a nip in the air could come in handy), and he smiled contentedly. "This is great," he declared, taking a drink of the juice. "Me and Dad, we used to go out to parks and stuff for breakfast all the time."

Tom's fork nervously tapped his waffles, a frown disposing of his smile. Matthew gazed out at the grey waters, his eyes distant as he remembered better times. He blinked, bringing his mind back to the present, but he still watched the water, as though somewhere in there his answers could be found.

"Mr. Hemming?"

Tom was grateful for the silence to be broken. "Yes, Matthew?"

"I didn't say anything about it earlier, but I noticed…" Matthew gestured to Tom with his cup before setting it down and returning to his pancakes. "You have all these scars. Some are big and some are really little. Did they… did they come from your dad?"

Tom was very still. He looked down at his fork, repeatedly spearing the same piece of waffle. "Yes," he answered quietly. "My father was much like your own father, Matthew. Worse, even. For he wasn't even sorry."

"Dad's sorry?" Matthew sat up straighter, hopeful.

Tom shook his head. "It's only another part of the cycle, Matthew," he said. "Then it starts over again. The apologies were left out altogether for me when he saw the truth: that it didn't matter. It didn't matter how badly he hurt me, I would never cry out, never show the world what he had done. I still haven't."

"He defeated you," Matthew murmured.

"Everyone defeated me," Tom replied. "I was always defeated, it didn't matter who by. I finally became so sick of my fear, so sick of being used to it, that instead of standing up and fighting back… I ran away."

"And you came here, and stood up and fought back for me," Matthew said, and Tom looked at him in surprise. "If you hadn't run, Mr. Hemming, you wouldn't be where you belong."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Tom admitted.

"Neither had I. Just thought of it right now." Matthew sighed. "This is really happening, isn't it, Mr. Hemming?" he said sadly. "It's my turn to stand up and fight back. I don't want to. I _really_ don't want to."

"I know." Tom answered. "But I'll tell you from experience, Matthew, running and hiding is worse. And now it's too late for me to do anything."

Matthew set his fork inside the now-empty box and closed it. His fingers twisted. "I never wanted my dad to go to jail."

"No one does," Tom replied. "But for everyone's sakes, Matthew, he's got to. You need to speak up. I'm asking you."

Matthew's eyes were still closed. Tom could see him trembling. The boy opened his eyes again, a brave set to them, and he nodded. "Okay," he said shakily. "I'll do it. I don't want to, but I'll do it. But…" His gaze was pleading. "Do I have to do it right now?"

"No, I think not," Tom assured him. "We still don't know what Lillian has been working on."

Matthew nodded, seeming relieved. He set his empty box with Tom's, and the assistant librarian set the basket down on the dock. Matthew shifted closer, his eyes sweeping over the water again.

"It surprises me every time," he told Tom. "All the water. It's like I never know what to do with so much of it."

"It's quite the opposite for me," Tom replied. "I've always been near the water." He wouldn't know what to do without the sharp smell of saltwater in his nose, to be honest. To lack the cry of far-travelling gulls, the ever-shifting water and shore... no, that wasn't something he desired.

"We're so different, Mr. Hemming," Matthew remarked. "Yet somehow we're both the same."

"Somehow," Tom said, feeling some of Matthew's surprise. They sat side-by-side for a while, listening to the steady tides. The gulls cried in question and Matthew cried back. Tom whistled tunes that Matthew had never heard, and the haunting melodies danced across colorless waves.

* * *

"This is not a good idea," Lillian said, anxiously pacing. She had four minutes before Albert got here. Mr. Spencer was horrendously punctual: never early, never late.

Charlene watched her agitated strides, a hand over the top of her round belly. "Probably not," she agreed, and looked down as the child within her stirred. "I know, baby, Granny Lil is just a little worried."

"'Little'?" Lillian repeated desperately. "Charlene, this is a boy's life at stake!"

"I know, Lillian," Charlene replied, and Lillian had envy for the calm the younger woman radiated. "And you're going to help him, because there isn't anyone I know who is a better helper than you. Just breathe, pray, and let the tools you've been blessed with do their work."

Lillian flinched as beeping pierced the air. Charlene rose to her feet. "Well, that'll be the bread," she said, pulling on mitts and extracting the hot pan from the machine. She looked down at her belly again, smiling. "You can't smell that yet, sweetheart, but I'll tell you right now that the scent of fresh bread will become one of your favorite things. I bet you didn't know that bakers ran in this family, hm?"

She turned the pan upside-down and started shaking it until the bread released and fell a short distance onto the cutting board. Charlene set the hot pan on the stovetop and flipped the bread over, picking up a toothed knife.

Albert knocked on the door, right on time. Lillian went to the front entry to the house and opened the door, leading him into the dining room. "Our living room is a tad crowded, what with the moving in and all," Lillian explained. She recalled that tomorrow was Saturday, and hoped Tom had remembered his promise of assistance.

"I noticed," Albert said, sounding critical. He and Charlene looked at each other and a flicker of distrust passed between them.

"I need more spices," Charlene said abruptly, and left the kitchen to escape into the large pantry.

Spencer sat down at the round table and Lillian sat a few seats away from him. Albert had his briefcase open on the table and a notepad in his hands. "You mentioned a child beater?" he queried.

"I did," Lillian replied. "But I can't say names, not yet, because… well, because I'm worried about the child. Once the parent is gone, what happens to him? Where will he go? Can he choose a guardian? Because, heaven knows the fates haven't given him good ones."

"You have a lot of questions," Albert said with a disapproving frown.

"I need this, Albert," Lillian said desperately. "Most importantly, _the boy_ needs this. Please, Albert. I'll abdicate my position as chess champion for a month and allow our records to start from scratch."

Albert leaned back in his chair and gave Lillian a hard, hard look. He repeated his words from twenty-three minutes before: "I'm listening."

* * *

Regina had to get rid of Tom Hemming. She had to, her town depended on it. But that accursed Mr. Gold had made it part of the deal that she could do nothing to harm Hemming. So she couldn't just grab him and send him to the town border. No, she had to do things a different way. But what?

She stopped pacing when she realized she wasn't alone. Tense, she turned, but relaxed when she saw it was only a black cat. Which then prompted her to wonder where the beast had come from. No matter, a quick call to the animal shelter would take care of it.

_Mrow._ The cat's yellow eyes watched her, and Regina was certain it knew what she was thinking. Cats were unusual creatures, Regina knew that from experience. In her land, many (or perhaps all) cats had magic, particularly the meddlesome panther Bagheera. But there was no magic in this realm, not even the odd and ancient magic of cats, and so in truth animals were just animals.

Still, this cat had a look of acute intelligence. It bothered Regina. The feline calmly prowled around the perimeter of the room, eventually hopping up onto the table. Its claws sprang out of sheathes and ferociously tore across the book Regina had left there.

"Hey—what are you—stop that!" Regina shoved the cat aside and rescued her book, though now it was probably too late. The poor thing had been mangled beyond use. "You rotten…" she growled, but then stopped as an idea occurred to her.

Hemming had worked at the library for thirteen years, at least according to everyone else. Minimum wage, probably a crappy apartment, and yet he hadn't even tried to leave or search for a new job. Almost always the man had a book with him, and seldom could the same one be seen two days in a row.

He loved the library. Regina grinned as she finally figured it out. Tom Hemming loved the library, and she was going to take it away. She picked up the phone and called the meeting. "Goodbye, Mr. Hemming," she purred after she hung up.

When she turned around, the black cat was gone, leaving Regina alone with the fading smell of apple turnover she had prepared earlier. For some reason, Regina was not surprised. She strode confidently out of her house and did not see Henry peeking out from behind his bedroom door. He had been listening the entire time.

* * *

Lillian closed the door after Albert and fell back against it. She looked across at Charlene in amazement. "I can't believe that worked," she said.

"You and me both, Lillian," Charlene answered. She was chopping vegetables, preparations for supper that she would put into the freezer until late afternoon, when she would take them back out and thaw them in soup she was planning on.

"Thanks for your idea," Lillian said gratefully. "I don't know how things would have gone if you hadn't said something."

"Having adopted siblings can be very fortunate," Charlene said. She smiled in fond recollection. "Of course, I've known that for a long time."

"I have to get back to the library now," Lillian said, grabbing her coat and pulling it back on. "Actually, I shouldn't have even left. Thanks again, Charlene." She kissed the younger woman on the cheek and hurried out the door.

Charlene smiled, a hand with flecks of carrot brushing her cheek. A mother's kiss. She had been missing it for a long time. Her hand moved down at stroked her belly affectionately, thinking of the child growing inside. "You're going to be such a lucky girl, baby," she murmured happily, and her heart was full. "You'll have a grandma to call your own."

* * *

Tom and Matthew returned to the library, with some haste since Tom had realized they'd been out for nearly two hours. As they reached the doorstep, someone called Tom's name. He quickly shoved Matthew through the door and turned around.

It was Paige. She was running towards him, her manner excited. "Hello, Paige," Tom said as she approached. "How is Jeffy?"

"Oh, he eats all on his own now," Paige bubbled happily, somewhat out of breath. "He still sits alone in the corner a lot, but then Hat goes over and pesters him until he cheers up. They're best friends, you know."

"I am delighted to hear of his recovery, Paige," Tom smiled.

"Thank you so much for helping, Mr. Hemming," Paige said gratefully. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I'm sure you would have thought of something, Paige," Tom answered kindly. "It is clear that you love Jeffy and Hat a great deal."

"They're my favorites," Paige said simply. She gave Tom a quick hug. "I have to get back to grocery store now, that's where my mom's waiting. She said I could come over here and say thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Hemming!"

"Goodbye, Paige," Tom called after her. She waved and sped off. Tom waved back briefly before slipping inside the library once again. Lillian had returned and was talking with Matthew as she hung her coat on a peg.

"Hello, Tom," she said, and smiled lightly. "Enjoy your breakfast?"

Tom paused awkwardly. "There was some travel involved," he explained.

"Mr. Hemming took me down to the docks, it was great," Matthew said. "Though a little bit too cold for my tastes." He bounced with sudden delight. "Mr. Hemming, Ms. Williams thinks she found a way to help us!"

Tom looked at Lillian in interest. "I talked with Albert Spencer," she explained. "The District Attorney."

Tom hissed through his teeth. "Are you sure that was a good idea?" he questioned.

"I didn't name names," Lillian said quickly. "He knows the story but he doesn't know who it's about."

"He said that if I'm taken from my parents, which I will be once I testify, the first option is for me to go to a relative," Matthew said. "If they're not willing, I go to a legal guardian. And if no legal guardian… well, it's the foster system for me."

Tom sat himself up on the checkout counter, fingers drumming worriedly. "The foster system is designed with the intent of returning the child to their parents," he said. "Unless, of course, the parent willfully refuses custody of their own offspring. It is, sadly, not unheard of. And Matthew's father is not consistent enough to succeed. That would put Matthew up for adoption—"

"Which is _not_ going to happen," Matthew said strongly.

"And in the event that it does, Tom is qualified to adopt," Lillian said. "At least, I'm pretty sure you're not. Some would think you'd be a bad influence, what with not having a real house and all."

Tom sighed exasperatedly. "I thought this was supposed to be _good_ news?" he inquired.

"It's news," Lillian replied. "Whether it's good or bad, we'll just have to wait and see how it plays out. As far as I can see, Tom, your best bet is to become Matthew's legal guardian."

Tom choked. "How am I supposed to get his parents to agree to that?!" he exclaimed. "His father tried to kill me earlier today, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet! Horrible things are _not_ supposed to happen before breakfast, Lillian."

"I have some powers of persuasion," Lillian said. "And when you work up the nerve to talk to people, you're very reasonable. Between the two of us, maybe we can help them see the wisdom of it."

"Doubtful," Matthew muttered, shoulders slumping. His burst of optimism seemed to have spent itself. Tom pulled him up onto the counter beside him.

"What other option is there?" Lillian pointed out. "We can't keep you hidden for long, Matthew. By the end of today, an entire town will be looking for you."

"Perhaps," Tom mused, "perhaps if they understand that you will testify, Matthew, no matter what they do, they will understand the sense in having me as a legal guardian. That way, even though you will be taken away, you'll still be relatively close."

"So the key is making my parents realize I'm not afraid to speak out?" Matthew asked. He shrank. "I dunno about this plan, guys. And there's still my mom, you're forgetting her. It's Dad who's going to jail, not her."

"Has she ever stood up for you, Matthew?" Tom demanded. His abrupt harshness startled both Matthew and Lillian. "Has she ever tried to protect you from your father's rage? I suspect she's helped kindle it many a time." Matthew's silence gave Tom his answer. "Matthew, she's not reliable. He abuses you, she neglects you. Both are horrible, you would be taken from her as well."

"But you want to convince my parents to give me up!" Matthew exclaimed incredulously. "You want to convince my _dad_ to let me go. Mr. Hemming, Ms. Williams, _dinosaurs_ will return before that happens!"

"Actually, dinosaurs aren't fully extinct yet," Tom remarked. Matthew looked at him in disbelief. "More on that later. Please have faith, Matthew. This could work and honestly, it's all we have."

"If you become my guardian, then I would be staying with you," Matthew said slowly. He seemed hesitant to reignite his hope.

"Yes," Tom nodded. His hand touched Matthew's shoulder; reluctantly at first and then settling into the warm curve. Tom wasn't much for warmth, but Matthew's glow, which somehow had never been extinguished through all his ordeals, was irresistible.

"And I'll be safe?" Matthew questioned nervously. He fidgeted.

"Matthew, I will protect you with my life," Tom swore. "Whether I am allowed to keep you or not. I would abandon life to keep you safe."

Matthew made no attempt to push back his tears. He hugged Tom, who hugged him back without any hesitation. "That means a lot, Mr. Hemming," Matthew said, his voice choked.

"It's supposed to," Tom replied softly, and kissed the top of Matthew's head. "This is going to work for good, Matthew," he promised. "It will."

"Mr. Hemming?" Matthew looked up, and his dark eyes met with Tom's light ones. "I'm not so scared anymore."

Tom smiled. Lillian did so, and tears were mixed with it. "Things are only going to go uphill from here," she said certainly.

Regina walked into the library.


	16. Chapter 15

**_Author's notes:_**_ being a silly goose, I totally forgot to give kudos where kudos is deserved. Tom's tattoo over his heart, mentioned at the end of chapter 13, was entirely the idea of Moki Hunter. Thanks, Moki! :)_

_And this week's drawing on my Tumblr: a Jefferson! Because I haven't drawn him before and I was in the mood for something cute.  
_

_Everyone, please take a moment... Over there is a row of tissue boxes. Take however many you need because you will need them. Take it from the person who's been crying on and off for the past three hours._

**_Warnings:_**_ so. many. feelings.  
_

* * *

Tom immediately dropped from the counter and moved in front of Matthew, taking a protective stance. "What are you doing here, Mayor Mills?" he barked.

Regina was surprised that the assistant librarian had mustered the nerve to speak to her so sharply. It must have something to do with the Curse's recent waning. A confident smirk turned her purple-tinged lips upward in a menacing manner. Hemming took a slight step backward, but he stayed in front of Matthew rather than moving away.

"I came to deliver the good news," Regina purred.

The blood drained from Lillian's face. "I had to say it," she murmured, angry with herself.

"What good news?" Tom demanded, looking at Regina suspiciously.

"Now, is that a way to talk to your mayor? You did vote for me, after all." Regina folded her arms, her loose hand gesturing to the shelves of books around them. "All this is going away," she told them cheerfully. "The library has been closed."

Silence. The trio stared at Regina in shock, and horror, and Regina felt great satisfaction in the desolation in Tom's face. "Closed?" Lillian whispered, her voice shaking. She was looking at Tom. Matthew's hand gripped the assistant librarian's arm, his face pale.

"The library has not been proving profitable," Regina explained in simple terms. "It is a waste of the town's budget. It was decided today. In an hour the doors will be locked and all the books set up for auctioning. You have until then to be out of here."

She smiled. Lillian sank down into a chair, unable to stay on her own feet. Tom set a hand on her shoulder, comforting and gentle, and he gave Regina a look of such furious loathing that she nearly backed away. Matthew's hands were clenched into tight fists and he seemed to be struggling to contain his anger. He would learn eventually that what she had just done was for his own good.

"You're a witch," Tom said quietly, and there was power in the softly uttered words, power that hinted at the terrifying force he used to be. "A poisonous, serpentine witch."

"I'm just doing what is best for the town," Regina told him. She was telling the truth, at least as she perceived it.

Tom glared at her and Regina stared evenly back. He held her gaze for another moment before dropping it and backing down. He knew that he had lost, and due to his unfortunate lack of powerful friends, there was nothing he could do to fight back.

Tom laughed bitterly. "Get out of our library, _Madam Mayor,_ in the hour it's still ours," he snapped. "Before I shove a bookcase on you and crush your skull."

Regina wasn't intimidated by Tom's threat. Or so she told herself. She walked out of the library and Tom followed her outside. "I'm not going to find work here again, am I," he said, seeming to comprehend at last what it was that Regina was doing.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Regina replied smoothly. She went over to her car, withdrawing her keys.

"What did I do to earn your hatred in such a way, Regina?" Tom asked. He seemed exhausted and bewildered. Regina recalled that before they had noticed her presence in the library, he and his two friends had been smiling. Hope was bright on their faces.

Not that Regina cared. She smiled. "I don't hate you, Mr. Hemming," she told Tom, almost kindly. _I'm afraid of you._ She opened her car's door and seated herself inside, watching as Hemming turned and retreated into the library in defeat, for the last time.

It had been a good day thus far. Emma Swan was fleeing Storybrooke, and Regina had sent her away with an apple turnover containing the same sleeping curse that had taken the Savior's mother. Tom Hemming was vanquished and soon would _willingly_ walk to his own demise. The Curse was never going to break. And Regina could finally focus on destroying Mary Margaret forever.

Regina's phone rang. She turned it on and lifted it up to her ear. "Regina Mills."

"Madam Mayor?" It was Dr. Whale on the other end of the line. "We need you here immediately. Henry's been admitted, his condition is critical."

Regina's heart stopped. No, _no,_ **_no_**_._

* * *

They had ridden faster than Balder's initial estimation, which was all well and good. It probably had something to do with an overwhelming desire to outrun a rainstorm. "We should reach the gateway any minute now!" the young Asgardian called to Thor.

"Good!" Thor called back.

Chatter flew easily between the brothers now, as though a barrier of silence had never existed between them. Volstagg and Fandral frequently conversed, and Hogun maintained his preferred quiet, speaking as he desired. Silence was again Sif's lot, and she in turn made no sound, her lips twisted in misery and self-hate.

Balder looked around as he rode alongside Thor, and a worried frown began to emerge. Thor asked him what was wrong. "No panthers," Balder answered. "Aside from Bagheera, I have seen no panthers since the Curse struck."

"Does this bode ill?" Thor asked.

"It may," Balder confirmed. "Without panthers, the gateway may not work at all. It does belong to them, after all. I only pray that I am wrong. To go through all this strife for nothing will be bitter indeed." He winced. "And I haven't the time to waste."

"How are you feeling?" Thor asked in a low voice.

"I would rather pretend I don't feel anything at all, if you don't mind," Balder replied in a tight voice. Thor nodded in understanding, frowning in concern for his little brother. There had to be a way to save him.

"Say! Is that the gateway up ahead?" Fandral called to Balder. "It seems to me that there is a great deal of magic ahead."

Balder sat straighter in his saddle. "So it is!" he cried in delight. "Well spotted, Fandral!"

"Loki would have seen it miles ago," Fandral muttered. Volstagg and Hogun nodded. Sif shrank further into her saddle, wishing the land below would have mercy and devour her.

They reached the gateway and dismounted (Balder stubbornly refused help from Thor and nearly fell on his face. Fandral remarked on his obvious status of Odinson). Their weapons were sharpened and readied for the last time, and rain cloaks stored back into their packs.

"Remember, we cannot cross the border of the land until Balder lifts the Curse's effects," Thor said. "Otherwise things will become very messy, as my Midgardian friends like to say."

"Very messy indeed," Balder agreed. "Now—" He stopped. "Sif, what are you doing?"

Sif, like everyone else, had taken off her cloak and hood and was setting them inside her horse's saddlebag, preparing for the coming battle. She looked like a different person without her long tail. She glanced up at Thor briefly before casting her eyes down in shame. "I'm coming with you," she said, her voice lacking the authoritative ring it usually did.

"No, you're not," Balder said flatly. Thor's gaze was equally harsh. "You can't be trusted, Sif, you've already proven that."

"Please understand," Sif begged. "I never wanted Loki hurt. I never wanted anyone hurt. I only wanted to protect others! To protect you," she added, her gaze flicking to Thor before falling again. "I know that you love Loki too much to take action, to make certain that he would never hurt anyone again. You trust him too much Thor, and that is how he wounds you. So I went to Rumplestiltskin, I sold my hair in exchange for everyone's safety. I didn't know the imp would take him, I swear I didn't!"

Thor didn't answer. No one did, bearing the hard looks of those who will never trust again, not in the way they once did.

"I ask you," Sif pleaded, "let me redeem myself."

They all stared at her, not speaking. Volstagg stepped forward, standing by Sif's side and turning to face Thor. "She deserves that much, Thor," he said. Sif felt she would collapse under the relief of having faith entrusted in her again.

Thor still did not answer, his gaze never leaving Sif's face. She couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. Balder's gaze was sharpest of all, but then his eyes closed and he sighed. "Volstagg's right, brother," he said reluctantly. Sif stared at him in shock, for Balder had persecuted her more fiercely than all the rest.

The vouchings of his close friend and his sibling were good enough for Thor, and frankly, he was relieved. "Very well," he said, and Sif's face lit with hope. "But for your sake, Sif, do not tell Loki what you have done. He will not be forgiving."

Sif nodded.

"We must make haste," Balder said. This time he allowed Thor to help him onto his stallion's saddle. Weapons drawn, the warriors directed their steeds behind the questor and went through the first gateway, heading for the second and final that would take them to Loki.

Sif rode behind, accompanied again by Volstagg. "Why would _Balder_ defend me?" she said incredulously.

"Balder knows love when he sees it," Volstagg replies. "He's in it, himself. It only took him some time to understand your position through his own hurt."

"Through my betrayal, you mean," Sif said, bitter towards herself.

Volstagg did not answer. The golden gateway came in sight, and the Odinsons led the way.

* * *

_"Henry, can you hear me? Come on, Henry, wake up. Please! Come on, you can do it!"_

It was funny. Henry had thought that biting the apple would just make him fall asleep like any other time. But no, the sleeping curse had swept through his entire body like a violent and crippling wave, seizing every part and forcing it to a stop. Henry was surrounded by darkness and he couldn't move and couldn't really feel, either.

But he could still hear.

_"Ma'am, you need to—"_

_"No, I am _not_ going anywhere. Henry!"_

She sounded so worried, so afraid. There was still so much Henry had to tell Emma, so much that she had to know. He was alone in the darkness, and he hoped, prayed, _believed_ that this would work. That Emma would bring him home.

Emma was afraid and Henry wished that she wasn't. It made him afraid. But still the faith inside him burned, almost enough to bring light to the blackness that engulfed him.

She was talking about the turnover. Well, at least she knew in part what was responsible.

_"Look, I know you're frustrated, Miss Swan. I do, but I need something to treat. Right now there is no explanation. It's like…"_

Oh, say it, Emma, please say it.

_"Like magic."_

And for a moment, the darkness was gone. Light blinded Henry, light and color and hope. Emma _believed._

* * *

"We need help," Regina said shakily. She couldn't believe she was doing this, couldn't believe she was working with _the Savior._ But Henry's life was on the line, and nothing else mattered. "There's one other person in town who knows about this. Knows about magic."

Emma's face was grim with realization. "Mr. Gold."

"Actually," said Regina, "he goes by Rumplestiltskin."

* * *

"What do we do?" Matthew wondered. His words were spoken in a tone of despair.

Tom was sitting up on the counter again, staring dumbly down at his hands as he aimlessly turned the rings on his fingers. Lillian lifted her head from her hands long enough to shake it. "I don't know," she confessed. "I've always had the library. I had been thinking of… oh, but that doesn't matter now."

Tom's face seemed the age with the weight of resignation. "Granny's will likely offer you a job until you're back on your feet," he told Lillian. "You'll have to take care of Matthew instead. Get him away from his father and keep him safe with you."

"What are you talking about?" Matthew said. He didn't like the look in Tom's eyes. It didn't belong there.

"I'm leaving Storybrooke," Tom answered. He slid off the counter and went back to his room, picking up a satchel and filling it with his few things.

"Wh-what?" Matthew stammered.

"The moment I met Regina, I knew she wanted me gone," Tom explained. The set of his mouth was hard. "And now she has won. What she said about the town budget? A convenient untruth. The real reason she is shutting this place down is me. There is nothing for me to do now but find a new home. I'll write, once I've settled."

"Nonsense!" Lillian cried with fervor. "Regina cannot force you out of this town, you are a law-abiding citizen with just as much right to be here as she does."

"It will be a fight, Lillian," Tom answered, anxiety creasing his brow. "And you've heard the stories. Regina fights dirty. She uses cruel tactics. How long before she drags Matthew into all of this? No." He put his last item into the satchel and zipped it closed. The blanket he had left on the bed, intending to have it given to Madge. He knew she had always liked it.

"Tom, you can pull through," Lillian said.

"I appreciate your optimism, Lillian, but I can't," Tom replied. He wasn't looking at her, wasn't looking at Matthew, who both wore pleading expressions. They didn't want him to g. "Regina doesn't want me here, and she's the mayor."

He sighed, eyes closing. His fingers gripped the rough material of the satchel, and he forced the right words to come from his mouth. "Don't you see?" he questioned softly. "I'm not leaving for me. If it were just me I would stay and fight. Perhaps. But it's not me; it's you. I'm leaving for you."

"You won't stay on account that Regina may take out her hatred of you on us," Lillian said. She finally understood, and as Tom looked over at her the pain in her gaze was unbearable.

"No one does that to their friends," Tom said. "And you're the best friends I've got. And Ruby," he added, a note of surprise to his voice. "Her too." How amazing was this, that not only did he have friends, he had _best friends._ And he had to protect them.

"Tom, this is wrong," Lillian said strongly.

"What can I do?" Tom responded, gesturing helplessly. "I'm just an assistant librarian, Lillian. Now I'm not even that anymore."

"Well, you shouldn't roll over and just let it happen!" Matthew said, righteous bite to his words. "Mayor Mills is manipulating the whole thing. Stand up to her, Mr. Hemming! You stood up to my dad."

"Regina controls the entire town," Tom answered. "Matthew, I am afraid it's impossible for me to stay."

"But you can't go," Matthew protested weakly. "You can't…" Tom silently gave him a chain, hanging from which was a gold ring inset with a stone, which someday Matthew's finger would be big enough to hold. Tom's throat constricted when he realized he may not be there for that day. Matthew dropped the chain around his neck and looked up at Tom, tears filling his eyes.

Tom opened a box and withdrew an item. He turned to Lillian. "I know it's nothing compared to what you have yearned for through your long life, Lillian," he said apologetically. "But I know you've always wanted children." His hands opened and nestled there was an intricately carved figurine.

It was Lillian, at the center of a crowd of little ones, each of them bearing striking resemblance to the children who came to visit the library. Even the boy who liked to play football—soccer—was there, too. It was the most detailed piece Tom had done in his life. It was certainly the most important.

Lillian accepted the gift with open tears and pulled Tom into a hug. It was fierce and gentle all at once. A mother's hug, Tom thought it might be. It hurt to realize that he had been missing it for so long. "Goodbye, Lillian," he whispered into the silver hair.

"Good luck, Tom," Lillian responded. They parted.

Matthew's fingers were curled around the ring Tom had given him. Hot tears dripped off his chin. "I don't want you to go," he sobbed.

"Oh, Matthew…" Tom whispered tenderly, kneeling and wrapping the boy in his arms, his hand stroking the black hair. "This is only for a time. Our paths are meant to cross again, I know this. Regina can't be mayor forever. I'll return someday."

Matthew's arms tightened around Tom's chest. "I thought things were going to get better," he whimpered. Tom had become familiar with the feeling of tears soaking into his shirt.

"They will," Tom replied. "Just in a different way than we had expected." He pulled away and gently wiped the boy's spilling tears from his eyes. Matthew did the same for Tom in turn. For some reason they laughed; they were nothing, _nothing_ but pain inside, and yet they smiled and soft sounds of happiness came from them. Their last moments of happiness together.

Tom slowly rose to his feet, stunned that he could feel so much hurt within. "Say goodbye to Ruby for me?" he asked Lillian. She nodded. Tom released a small sigh of relief—he knew he could not manage another goodbye—and lifted his satchel onto his shoulder.

"Wait," Lillian said. She disappeared for a moment and then returned, pressing three books into his hands: Tolkien's famed trilogy. "Take these with you," she said. "You love them; with you is where they belong. And a little something to remember me by.

A stray tear splashed onto a cover, staining the Party Tree with sorrow. "Thank you," Tom said gratefully, his voice choked. He delicately fit the books inside his satchel. There was just enough room. Lillian placed her hands on his shoulders and pulled him down, placing a tender kiss on his forehead.

"I always wanted a son, Tom," she confessed. "And I found him. It was you."

Tom's breath hitched, and the first sob was startled out. "And I always wanted a mother," he whispered. "She was you." He placed a kiss on her forehead, his heart bursting inside as he realized fully what it meant to love someone. It meant sometimes you had to walk away, even if you were certain it would kill you.

Tom forced himself to turn away, wiping his tears upon his black sleeve. Steeling himself, he strode out the front doors of the library and walked alone down the sidewalk. Matthew stood frozen alongside Lillian, watching his closest friend depart, until she set a hand on his shoulder and he looked up. "Go after him," she said.

Matthew sprinted down the street. Tom turned and a radiant smile shone through his tears. He offered his hand and Matthew took it. "I'll walk with you to the edge," Matthew said. "I won't leave you."

"I'm glad," Tom replied, even though his tone was nothing but sorrow.

* * *

Thor and his friends found themselves standing on a paved road outside the boundary of a town named Storybrooke. Thor looked around in confusion. "This looks like Midgard," he said.

"If this is Midgard, then the realm has certainly changed," Balder remarked. "But that will be something to ponder at another time." He dismounted, this time with aid from Volstagg, and grimaced. "Or perhaps it will be you doing the pondering at another time." He joined them as he pulled Rumplestiltskin's book from his satchel.

"It doesn't appear different from any other town," Fandral remarked, extending a finger. He snatched it back when a wall of transparent light appeared and tried to suck him in. "Or perhaps not," he reiterated, and Volstagg chuckled.

"I was about to suggest caution," Balder said dryly, "but I see now that won't be necessary." A hint of amusement played in his eyes. He turned his attention to the barrier, the final thing keeping from Loki.

The covers of Rumplestiltskin's book parted, and the row of Asgardians stood at the ready, eyes fixed ahead with their weapons in hand.

* * *

_"Nurse to ICU, STAT. Nurse to ICU, STAT. Defibrillator team to ICU, defibrillator team to ICU."_

Jefferson glanced up briefly as the voice called over the hospital intercom, then turned his attention back to his immediate task. He finished changing into the scrubs he had acquired and, striding confidently, went to the door leading down into the psychiatric ward. The intercom continued to call.

He quickly descended the stairs and met with his next obstacle, the nurse watching the door into the ward. He handed her the cup in his hand. "Your tea," he said.

She took it with curt and likely insincere thanks. She seemed the type. "What's the commotion upstairs?" she asked.

"There's a sick boy," Jefferson explained. "He took a bad turn."

"How tragic," the nurse said, and this time Jefferson had no doubt that her words were insincere. What sort of person didn't care about a dying child? He should have put a stronger drug in her tea._ Focus, Jefferson._ "Is there any hope for a—" The nurse slumped over in her chair, unconscious.

The trick never got old. "Recovery?" Jefferson finished. "Doubtful." He took the keys that the nurse had been guarding and a doctor's coat, slipping into the ward and proceeding down the hallway until he found the cell he was looking for. He unlocked the door and extended his hand to the frightened woman inside. "Come with me."

The woman slowly approached, her eyes wary. Belle had been her name in the world she and Jefferson came from, though here of course, she had no idea who she was. "Who are you?" she asked. "Why are you doing this?"

Jefferson took her by the hand and led her out of the ward, speaking urgently but also kindly. "My name is Jefferson, and I need your help to do something I can't," he both introduced and explained himself without telling too much. "There's a man, his name is Mr. Gold. Find him. All you have to do is tell him where you've been, and that Regina locked you up."

Belle was bewildered. "Wait a minute, what?"

Jefferson breathed a sigh for patience and held Belle by the shoulders, keeping her gaze. "It's very important," he told her. "Mr. Gold is going to protect you, but you have to tell him Regina locked you up. He's gonna know what to do. You understand?"

"Yes, I-I have to find Mr. Gold," Belle stammered.

Jefferson smiled broadly. _Yes._

* * *

Mr. Gold jerked to a halt as he realized that the library was closed. Hemming lived in the library; Gold had put him there himself. If the library was closed… Mr. Gold gritted his teeth. _Regina, what have you done?_ That fool of a woman most have found some way to navigate around the terms of their deal, there was no way she would try to outright defy him. He would have time to find out the details later. Mr. Gold hurried into his shop and completed his preparations.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Gold?"

"Yes, I am," Mr. Gold replied distractedly, thinking he might know this voice. He turned around to complete his response. "But I'm afraid the shop's closed—" The words froze in his throat. _Belle?_ No, it couldn't be Belle, Belle was dead, had been for years upon lonely years.

Yet she was standing right here inside his shop. Mr. Gold was certain that he had stopped breathing and was now dead, however impossible that may be.

"I was told to-to find and tell you that Regina locked me up," the apparition said awkwardly, no recognition of Gold in her eyes. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Mr. Gold tentatively reached out, his fingers brushing against her shoulder and then gripping tight. Solid and warm. "You're real," he whispered in amazement. "You're alive. She did this to you?"

"I was told you'd protect me," Belle said. She still didn't recognize Gold and that hurt, but she was _alive._ Mr. Gold realized he was embracing her, barely able to keep himself from sobbing.

"Oh yes. Yes, I'll protect you," he promised.

"I'm sorry," said Belle. "Do I-do I know you?"

Mr. Gold leaned back and gazed into her beautiful blue eyes, so greatly contrasting with his dark brown ones. "No," he told her, and followed it with another promise. "But you will."

* * *

It was the edge of town. Tom and Matthew let go of each other's hands and turned to look at each other, Tom's head bending down and Matthew's head tipping up. Tom adjusted his satchel's position. "So, this is it," Matthew said softly. "You're really going."

"I really am," Tom replied. He didn't want to go, oh how he didn't want to go! But he couldn't risk Matthew getting caught in the crossfire in this strange battle between Tom and Regina. Matthew stepped forward and attached himself to Tom's waist, burying his face in the adult's shirt. Tom's hand rubbed his back soothingly.

"I'm going to miss you, Mr. Hemming," Matthew cried. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"We'll keep in touch," Tom assured him. "I'll write. Whenever I can, I'll write."

"Then I'll pitch a tent by the post office," Matthew replied. Again they did that thing, when they found themselves laughing when everything good and loved in their worlds was falling apart. Tom suddenly put his satchel down and picked up Matthew, gripping him tight. Matthew wrapped his arms around Tom's neck and his legs around Tom's waist.

"I love you, Mr. Hemming," he mumbled into Tom's neck.

"And I love you," Tom replied. "_Fiercely._"

"You'll come back, won't you? Please say you'll come back."

Tom's frame shuddered with a sob. "Matthew, you don't even have to ask," he said. He set the boy back on the ground, brushing a few stray black hairs out of his face and kissing his forehead. His hand cupped the side of Matthew's face, hot tears dripping onto his thumb.

"This is only for a time, Matthew," he promised. "Only a time."

Matthew nodded. Tom picked up his satchel again and gently pointed Matthew back to the town before turning and walking further away from Storybrooke. Matthew went a short way and turned back around, watching Tom. Tom never looked back. Matthew never saw the agony on his face.

* * *

Emma and Regina rushed into the ICU, barren of the cure they had so desperately fought for, and nearly collided with Dr. Whale and Mother Superior as they exited. "We did everything we could," Dr. Whale apologized. His normally proud stature was slumped with weariness.

"I'm sorry," said Mother Superior. "You're too late."

Emma slowly walked into the ICU, barely noticing the nurse who turned off the machines and removed a breathing mask from Henry's pale face. Dr. Whale, Mother Superior, and Regina followed her in, gathering around lost Henry's bed.

"No," Regina sobbed, turning into Dr. Whale's shoulder. "No." Dr. Whale folded his arms around her, and it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Emma went to Henry, silent and far gone Henry, tears coating her face. Her boy, _her boy,_ was gone. Dead. She leaned down towards his face, whispering a last goodbye.

* * *

Tom walked alone down the single road leading out of Storybrooke. He glanced over as Nolan's truck drove past, and knew that the man's attempt to render trust whole again had failed. Inside Storybrooke, Matthew sat weeping on the edge of the sidewalk, his face buried in his hands.

* * *

_"I love you, Henry."_

But Henry didn't hear. Emma gently kissed his unfeeling forehead, not a flicker of hope in her but full of love, and that love was true, and true love is stronger than any curse. Stronger than Death itself. Color burst from the point of contact and Henry woke to a world full of light and hope and Emma's face.

"I love you, too," he replied, and Emma laughed in shock. He had heard her after all. "You saved me."

"You did it," Regina whispered.

* * *

Tom's steps faltered as the wave of luminescent color nearly swept him off his feet, and looked around in confusion as the lies faded. He turned to look back at where the town lay, and Loki grinned maliciously. _Thought you could keep me trapped here, Rumplestiltskin?_ he scoffed in his mind._ Regina was doing me a favor._ He turned his back on Storybrooke and, with a laugh, rounded the corner.

Six people stood there, all clad in distinctive Asgardian garb. And one of them was Thor. Loki jerked to a halt, meeting Thor's eyes for a brief, panic-filled second, and spun around to run back into Storybrooke.


	17. Chapter 16

_**Author's notes:** I am happy to announce that in this chapter, Fandral finally gets his moment to shine. I've always felt like I've given him a lesser treatment than the others, and Fandral really is a precious little charmer. And baLDER. OMG BALDER. YOU GUYS WILL UNDERSTAND SHORTLY. _

_For those of you who have watched Avatar: The Last Airbender... do you remember the episode _Zuko Alone_? Literally all I have been able to think of in regards to these next 3-4 chapters, specifically with Tom and Matthew in mind, and it does. not. help. with the feels._

_**Warnings:** violence and some gore. None of these characters are growing any kinder toward your soul.  
_

* * *

Loki almost outpaced Nolan's truck as he sped back down the road leading into Storybrooke. Purple smoke roiled upward in the sky, and Loki knew that he was heading towards it and it was heading towards him and he had no idea what it was, but their collision was inevitable. In a matter of seconds he would be travelling sightless.

Or would he? Loki stopped running as he felt his magic return to him, pumping through his veins like the greatest of thrills, and he turned around. A grin spread across his sharply angled features and he lifted his hand, feeling the magic churn as it came back after such a long absence, flowing up and through and pushing toward his fingers. _Fire,_ he commanded of his power, aiming his malice upon the blindly approaching Asgardians.

The only fire Loki received was the one that ignited in his chest, intense and shockingly painful. He croaked and stumbled backwards, hands vainly trying to cool the fiery brand searing through his heart.  
"Aa-aah," he groaned. "Aah."

"Loki?"

His magic was still trapped. Curse, _curse_ that Rumplestiltskin! And now Thor was approaching, and the smoke was already beginning to fade. Loki spun on his toes and started to run, useless magic pulsing through his body as his feet struck against the pavement. He had to get away. He could already hear Thor's heavy steps, Mjolnir spinning around his hand as he prepared to go aloft. Escapeescapeescape.

The buildings that comprised Storybrooke's main streets emerged before Loki's eyes. More places to hide; he knew this place better than Thor and his lackeys did. But it wouldn't be long before someone exposed him, and he had to achieve great distance between himself and Thor first.

A boy—Matthew—jumped to his feet upon seeing Loki and cried the name of the nonexistent assistant librarian. "Mr. Hemming!"

Loki skidded a halt. Now he was trapped between two. His eyes darted frantically, his panic as he saw Thor and his comrades drawing closer. An idea lit and he called for Matthew to join him. Trustingly, foolishly, the boy ran to him. Thor approached and Loki locked his arm around Matthew's throat. "Not another step!" he snapped.

Matthew's eyes widened; Loki could feel every muscle go taut. "M-Mr. Hemming?" he stammered.

Thor slowed, his fingers gripping Mjolnir's handle as he eyed Loki warily. The other Asgardians' feet skidded against the bitumen as they stopped. Where was Sif's tail? She looked a stranger without it. "Brother," Thor started.

"I am _not_ your brother!" Loki snarled furiously. Barely a few minutes into being himself again, and already Thor was trying to reestablish himself as the brother he had never been. Preposterous! "Now back away, _Odinson._ I will kill him."

Matthew released a confused sob. He knew Loki was in earnest. Loki tightened his chokehold on the boy's throat and the mortal's breathing grew strangled. Thor opened his mouth, uselessly trying to reason with the master of manipulation. His chance to humiliate himself further was cut off before it began.

"Stop!" a new voice rang out. A figure cloaked in blue cut off his rapid pace. An arrow was already nocked into the bow he carried, and he drew the string back to his ear. "Let the child go, Loki."

Loki actually felt surprised. Balder? Balder was here? No wonder Thor had found Loki so quickly. Loki remembered that, as children, Balder would try to track everything, even shadows. This archer certainly wasn't the child Loki had known; the blue eyes that stared at Loki were harder than flint.

"Loki?" Matthew echoed, his words bearing the tone of realization. "So, it isn't just me. Everyone here is two people."

"Silence," Loki growled. His arm wrapped tighter around the boy's throat. His gaze remained fixed on Balder. He could see sweat beading on the Asgardian's forehead, and his arms trembled. Was Balder ill? That could mean his arrow missing… and hitting someone else. Loki hesitated.

Balder took advantage of Loki's distraction. The arrow sprang away from his fingers and flew swifter than Loki could anticipate. He was unable to dodge in time, and the arrow pierced his shoulder, pushing through unarmored flesh until the tip just poked out the back. Loki's feet stumbled back and he almost released Matthew, but he remembered himself and seized the boy again in a harsher grip than before. He heard the child's neck pop. Loki's teeth gritted and his breath hissed roughly between the bones.

He grinned ghoulishly at Thor. "An _arrow?_" he scoffed. He could feel the blood soaking both sides of his black cardigan, the splintered bone Balder's projectile had struck through. "Really, Thor? Do you have to leave all your battles to your shadows?"

A dark expression crossed Balder's face, and the fingers wrapping around his bow tightened. The Warriors Three and Sif glared at Loki. A growl rumbled deep in Thor's throat. "This has gone far enough, brother," the Thunderer said.

Loki chuckled, pushing more effort into it when he realized how much it hurt. "Oh, Thor, you still don't understand," he said pityingly. "This war between us is never going to end. It's what we were _born _for, the very purpose for which Odin raised us. How long have you been hunting me, eh? Does it even matter? For here we are, the same as ever, the same battle to fight, the same frail lives to wreck around us." His grin spread further. "Tell me, how does it feel to see me become the very thing that you were too weak to remain?"

Thor was done hanging back. He stepped forward with a snarl, Mjolnir raising in anticipation of bloodshed. "For more than a month we have had to hunt you, Loki," he growled. "It is time that this was finished."

"A month?" Loki laughed harshly. "Oh, _dear_ Thor, it has been much longer than that."

Pain and pity entered Thor's gaze, accompanied by powerful guilt. It both satisfied Loki and drove him mad. He shoved Matthew forward, forcing the boy to collide with Thor, and staggered back. Laughter forced its way out of him, cropped and keening. Hysterical.

"I'm going to finish this myself, Thor," he rasped with a grin. "You'll never find me again."

Mindlessly desperate, mindlessly spiteful, he reached for all the magic he could find and threw himself away. Loki vanished, leaving nothing behind excepting a crazed laugh.

* * *

Thor went stiff with shock when Loki came around the corner. His brother skidded to halt, stared at Thor and his companions with an expression of stark terror, and then fled. Thor brandished Mjolnir, determined not to lose his brother again, and shouted for Balder to lift the barrier.

"It's already lifted," Balder said in surprise. "I didn't do anything."

That was good enough for Thor. Roaring, he chased after Loki with his fellow warriors alongside. Balder stayed a moment longer to redeposit Rumplestiltskin's book back into his satchel. He paused a moment and took his bow and quiver from their place on Skjótr's saddle. "Look after your kin, Skjótr," he instructed his horse. "We shall return."

Skjótr stamped a hoof, his head dipping in acknowledgement, and he and the other horses disappeared into the surrounding woods. They would return when they were called. Balder turned and followed after the rest of the Asgardians, withdrawing an arrow from his quiver and preparing to set it to the string. He could detect a limp in his movements; the stone curse was spreading to his legs.

The Asgardians each stumbled to a halt as they beheld the tower of dark purple smoke dominating the sky, sweeping forward to overwhelm the land with the choking force of magic. The Warriors Three and Sif made the wise decision and stopped when the smoke hit them, keeping their surroundings. Thor, however, did not halt.

The smoke cleared and, though he was distance off, Thor could see Loki. He was stooped over—in pain? Thor's expression changed to concern, afraid that his brother might be hurt. "Loki?" he called, picking up his pace again when Loki staggered away with gaining momentum. He could hear his fellow Asgardians following close behind.

Thor kept his gaze fixed on his sibling's swift movements, steadily diminishing the distance between them. Loki ceased his flight for the third time, and before Thor had a moment to react, Loki had seized a young boy in a chokehold. "Not another step!" he snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. The child stammered in confusion.

Thor forced himself to stop, fearing for the child's safety. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others had stopped their pursuit as well. Where was Balder? "Brother," Thor pleaded.

"I am _not_ your brother!" Loki snarled. His rage was even more intense than when Thor had last met him, his face dark with hatred. "Now back away, _Odinson._ I will kill him."

A sob wrenched out of the boy's chest—he was bewildered by what was happening. It grieved Thor to know that, in this case, Loki spoke the truth. How he wished it weren't so. Loki tightened his hold, his glare threatening. Thor lowered Mjolnir and took a step back.

He had to do something. Convince his maniacal brother that hurting this child would be the worst possible thing for him to do. But how? Thor's lips parted, no words yet on them but intent on spilling out.

"Stop!" Balder's voice rang out with sharp clarity. Thor turned and saw him standing a short distance away, an arrow already set to fly. The set to Thor's youngest brother's face was forbidding. "Let the child go, Loki."

Loki seemed to have been caught by surprise, for a change. Thor was worried: he could see the strain Balder was under. With the stone curse taking hold, he couldn't afford to exert himself like this. "Loki?" the boy repeated. His eyebrows lifted with a look of comprehension. "So, it isn't just me. Everyone here is two people."

Thor wondered what the boy meant by that. Loki growled at the child to be silent, his pale stare fixed on Balder. Thor was made apprehensive by it. He shifted forward, meaning again to try and persuade his brother to let the boy go.

He could see a shadow of hesitation upon Loki's face. Perhaps he could be convinced after all, Thor thought with hope.

Before he could utter a word, Balder let his arrow loose. It hit Loki, much to Thor's astonishment, burying itself deep in his left shoulder. Loki staggered back and nearly relinquished his hold on the boy, but instead came near to strangling the life out of the child instead. He turned a deathly grin upon Thor.

"An _arrow?_" he scoffed, yet Thor could hear the pain lacing his words. His brother's blood was seeping into his clothes, the black material turning soggy. "Really, Thor? Do you have to leave all your battles to your shadows?"

Thor could see a muscle in Balder's jaw twitch, and another arrow was pulled from his quiver. Thor winced at the reminder of what Balder had been left to grow up in. Loki had claimed to live in a shadow, but Balder hadn't even the teasing of light.

Thor could feel anger rising up in him, a growl lurking deep in his throat. "This has gone far enough, brother," he said warningly.

He succeeded in drawing Loki's malevolent attention away from their younger brother. The Trickster chuckled, and Thor thought it sounded manic. "Oh, Thor, you still don't understand," he said, shaking his head pityingly. "This war between us is never going to end. It's what we were _born_ for, the very purpose for which Odin raised us. How long have you been hunting me, eh? Does it even matter? For here we are, the same as ever, the same battle to fight, the same frail lives to wreck around us." His grin stretched to unnatural proportions. Thor could see the pain screaming out from Loki's eyes. "Tell me, how does it feel to see me become the very thing that you were too weak to remain?"

No. That time was done, Thor was _not_ going to allow Loki to drag him back down into the arrogance that had almost destroyed him as a youth. He took a long stride forward, Mjolnir lifting almost of its own accord. "For more than a month we have had to hunt you, Loki," he said. "It is time that this was finished."

"A month?" Thor's blood chilled as Loki laughed. "Oh, _dear_ Thor, it has been much longer than that."

Longer. Balder had once mentioned that the realm of Rumplestiltskin dealt peculiarly with time. How long had Loki been here? How long had he been cursed like this? This was all Thor's fault. He should have protected his brother.

Loki snarled angrily, shoving the boy into Thor's path and stumbling back. Spurts of wild laughter kept snapping out of him. "I'm going to finish this myself, Thor," he said with a mad grin, his voice rough. "You'll never find me again."

Desperation shone in Loki's eyes, overwhelming his madness, and he vanished with a final cackle. Thor rushed forward before remembering that it was useless. Only Hogun and Sif could track Loki when he disappeared in such a manner, and that was only because he had taught them how.

Thor turned around. His friends looked back at him. "What do we do now?" Fandral wondered.

Volstagg had gone to the boy, who had sunk down to the road in dumb shock. The Asgardian had left his ax behind, as he often did, his manner completely gentle as his hands rested on the boy's shoulders. They trembled, but stiffened against his touch.

"I don't understand," the boy whispered. "He tried to kill me, I don't understand." He looked up at Volstagg incredulously, betrayal in his eyes. "Who are you?"

"I am Volstagg," Volstagg replied kindly. "These are my friends. The Warriors Three—Fandral, Hogun, and I am the third—Sif, Thor, and Balder."

"I'm Matthew," the boy replied, and seemingly on reflex took Volstagg's hand in a secure grasp, shaking it. "Or Mowgli. It depends on who you ask."

"Mowgli?" Balder murmured, a hint of recognition in his eyes. "But that—_ah!_" The bow fell from his fingers and clattered against the pavement, arrow with it. Balder's legs buckled beneath him, and he dropped heavily to the pavement.

"Balder!" Thor cried, and rushed to his brother's side. He knelt beside him and pulled his younger sibling up to a sitting position.

"I'm sorry," Balder rasped, his face tight in pain. "I'm slowing you down. You need to—" A strained grunt slipped past his gritted teeth. "My right leg. I can't move it anymore."

Thor started when the boy, Matthew, was suddenly by his side. The Midgardian's expression was grave. "This smells like a curse to me," he said, an angry turn to his lips.

"Matthew?"

The boy straightened quickly and turned when his name was called. A woman whose black hair was blending into silver, lifted the skirts of her dress and ran toward him. She somehow read the distress Matthew concealed, her hands holding his face as her face creased in worry.

"Matthew, what happened?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Ms. Williams," Matthew replied. He kept his tone carefully light. "Mr. Hemming is not dealing with a sudden double life very well." He slipped out of her hold and would not say more, instead going back over to Balder. "This man needs our help," he told Ms. Williams.

Balder nodded to her in greeting, then glared at Thor, who was still holding him up. "Go after Loki," he commanded his brother, his authoritative tone weakened by his pain. "Hogun and Sif are the best trackers, take them."

"But…" Thor was reluctant.

"Balder speaks sense, Thor," Hogun broke in. "We must split up."

Thor sighed in defeat. He allowed Volstagg to help Balder instead and rose to his feet. Ms. Williams touched his elbow to get his attention. "I can help," she told him. "This is evil magic at work, I can see. I've witnessed similar symptoms in a town that was attacked by a certain group of wraiths. If you will allow me, I will help your friend in whatever way I can."

"My brother," Thor informed her, and dipped his head in gratitude. "My thanks for any aid you may be able to give us, Lady Williams."

"Thor." He looked to Sif. She was already a number of steps down the street, accompanied by Hogun. "If we wish to catch Loki, we will have to move fast."

"Loki…" Ms. Williams' face grew pale. "You mean Tom." Matthew's hand found hers. Thor gave her an apologetic look.

"I hope I can explain soon," he said, and joined Sif and Hogun. The three of them sped down the road, following Loki's unseen trail.

Ms. Williams struggled to gather herself, and turned to the three Asgardians left in her company: Fandral, Volstagg, and Balder. "You, my stout fellow," she said to Volstagg, "shall have to carry Master Balder for me, I am afraid."

"Nothing to fear, Lady Williams," Volstagg replied. He lowered himself to one knee and picked up Balder, whose breath hitched in a small gasp.

"You may call me Lillian," she told the Asgardians, a polite smile on her lips. She led her companions—Fandral, Volstagg, Balder, and Matthew—along a different route from Thor's. Her step was brisk, she would not waste a moment of their time.

Matthew's brows lowered as he took note of a crowd of people noisily surging down another street. Volstagg frowned deeply. He had seen this sort of madness before. "That is a mob," he said grimly. "They seem bent on murder."

"That road leads to Mayor Mills' house," Matthew remarked. He stopped in horror. "That road. Leads to Mayor Mills' house."

Lillian turned pale. "Oh no," she said in fear. "Those people are insane—the purple smoke was magic. If Regina has hers back, those poor fools will be marching to their own slaughter."

"Leave me here and go to their aid," Balder said instantly. "I'll be fine."

"No you won't," Lillian said firmly. They had all stopped walking by this point. "You need help, young man."

"We'll take care of this," Matthew stated. "Mr. Fandral, I'll show you the way. And Mr. Balder, I hope you don't mind me borrowing your knife." He took the weapon and nodded in satisfaction at the sharpness of the blade. The adults could see that he understood the handling of a knife. "We'll be back soon," he promised. "Come on, Mr. Fandral, this way."

Fandral and Volstagg exchanged nods, agreeing to part ways for now. The younger Asgardian stayed alongside Matthew as they split off from the group. The human boy was surprisingly swift. "So," said Matthew, still keeping his breath despite their rapid pace, "how do you guys know Mr. Hemming?"

"Hemming? Oh, you mean Loki," Fandral realized. "Well, we have known for a long time. Our entire lives, almost."

"He doesn't seem to like you much," Matthew said. His tone was casual, but Fandral did not miss the harshness. "Considering he tried to kill me just to escape from you."

"He took a turn for the insane a few years ago," Fandral told Matthew, and was surprised at how intense the regret within him was. Regret for so many words and days and lives wasted. "Heaven knows what triggered it. Some believe it was Thor's upcoming coronation, but I've never personally believed that. Loki had always been more collected than the rest of us."

Matthew's brow furrowed, and he spared Fandral a glance before rounding a corner, the Asgardian close behind. "Thor, that's the big blond guy, right?"

"Loki's brother, yes," Fandral explained.

"But Mr. Hemming doesn't have any brothers," Matthew started to protest, then cut himself off with a brief laugh. "But I wasn't raised by wolves, either. Maybe there's some truth in what you say." He stumbled as a thought occurred to him. "Wait, Mr. Hemming is a prince?"

"I don't think he counts as one anymore," Fandral said honestly. He frowned, cold anger in his gaze. "Not with what he has done." He pointed. "I believe we have reached our destination, Matthew of Storybrooke."

Fandral was right. An angry, murmuring crowd surrounded an elaborate white house, murder clearly upon their hearts. Fandral set a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I thank you for your help, lad. You had best return to the others now."

Matthew was visibly nervous. "Yeah, I don't like it when the people go crazy," he admitted, yet he resolutely gripped the knife from Balder. "But only a coward leaves a man to face masses alone."

Fandral decided not to argue. Matthew was fully capable of making his own choices. He tried to push his way through the crowd, but considering he was trying not to break anybody, whatever progress he made was small. A man stood at the house's door, hateful glare pointed in. Matthew told Fandral the man's name was Dr. Whale, before disappearing into the crush of bodies. Fandral thought there was a twisted look to Dr. Whale, shades of the unhealthy elements of Loki's personality.

"You can't hide in there forever, Regina," Dr. Whale called strongly, his voice full of loathing. "You took everything from us, and now…"

"What?" a smooth voice chuckled. The door opened and a woman came out, the turn to her lips amused. "You're going to kill me?"

Fandral stopped breathing. Lillian, and now this Dr. Whale, had both referred to this dark woman as Regina. Balder had told them that the evil Queen Regina was the one who had cast the Curse, and though he wasn't aware that Fandral had heard, was the same witch who had taken his wife.

Fandral had been rushing to this witch's _defense?_ He hesitated, but then it occurred to him that protecting her could result in finding the information to locate Balder's wife.

Dr. Whale seized his opportunity and rushed toward Regina, but with a look of disdain she shoved him back. She lifted her voice, stalking toward the retreating crowd. Fandral and Matthew were pushed back.

"You wanted to see your Queen?" Regina asked, merciless gaze sliding over her subjects. "Well, my dears, here… she… _is._" She thrust her hands out and the entire crowd cowered and ducked back, clearly expecting magic. But nothing happened.

"She's powerless," a man standing next to Fandral whispered.

"Get her!" another man cried, and the mob surged forward. Fandral felt a mixture of distress and disgust. Surely human were better than this? Dr. Whale shoved Regina up against a column. "Now," he purred, eyes vicious, "where were we?" His hands moved toward Regina's throat, relishing in the fear in her eyes.

Matthew's knife spun in front of Dr. Whale's face, nicking the tip of his nose. Whale flinched back. Fandral abandoned his prior delicacy and shoved humans aside until he reached Dr. Whale and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, spinning him around and slamming him against the house's deck. The man was light enough to be a child. Fandral planted a boot on Dr. Whale's chest, holding the tip of his sword to the man's nose. "Wriggling would not be the best course of action," he advised. Dr. Whale growled at him.

Dissent rose in the crowd. Over it rang a woman's voice, and a lady of golden hair strode through. "We are not going to kill Regina!" She pushed through the crowd much more quickly than Fandral had, fellow mortals backing away from her authority. Some of them were already blinking as sense made its return. Matthew cheered the arrival of Sheriff Swan.

"Why should I listen to you?" Dr. Whale demanded. Fandral nicked his already bleeding nose.

"Because I am still the Sheriff," Sheriff Swan replied. Fandral wondered what that rank of power indicated.

A man came to join her. Fandral thought he looked rather dashing, but he lacked a mustache. He had a princely look to him, and reminded Fandral some of Thor. "Because she saved you," the man snapped, sounding disgusted with the entirety of his town. "_All_ of you!"

"We are not murderers here," Sheriff Swan said firmly.

"Well, we're not from this world," Dr. Whale answered defiantly. His eyes crossed as Fandral's sword quickly moved to the center of his forehead.

"That is the weakest excuse," he said angrily. "I have traveled many worlds, mortal, it makes no difference whether you are _from_ there or not—you abide by the rules of the realm, and behave with honor! A concept that seems to be lost on you, foul worm."

He stepped aside to allow the man to pull Dr. Whale to his feet, fixing the hostile doctor with a glare. "We're done here, Whale," the man said flatly.

"Back off," Dr. Whale spat. "You're not my Prince."

"That isn't the point," Matthew growled. He had retrieved Balder's knife and had it poised to throw. "This, however, is. Get lost, Dr. Whale."

"It does not matter whether he is your Prince or not," Fandral added, a menacing note to his voice. This Dr. Whale really was bringing out the worst in him. "Any worthy Prince, and this one is certainly ranked among them, has earned respect on _all_ worlds. He tells you that you are done, Dr. Whale, and you are _done._ Begone!"

Dr. Whale was a strong man, but even he could not defy an Asgardian. Clearly he remembered how Fandral had tossed him to the ground as though he were no heavier than a doll. He shrank back, angrily, and slunk away to places unknown.

"Regina's death won't provide us with any answers," a new woman said. She stood near to the princely fellow, and Fandral could see the connection between them. By this time people seemed ready to listen to reason, and Fandral was thankful. "She needs to be locked up, for her safety… and more importantly, for ours."

They began pushing their way back through the slowly dissipating crowd. The handsome man turned to Fandral and asked him to come along. Fandral did, and Matthew fell in step alongside. The knife he had carefully tucked into his belt, eyes cautiously observing his surroundings. His look filled with enmity whenever it went to Regina.

"Thanks for the help, mister…" The man paused as he realized he did not know Fandral's name.

"Fandral the Dashing, at your service," Fandral said with a small bow. He sheathed his sword neatly. "I hail from Asgard, along with my five other friends, who are not present at this moment."

"You're one of the people who was standing outside the border," the man said in surprise. He offered his hand and shook strongly with Fandral. "I'm David Nolan. It's a pleasure to meet you, Fandral." He briefly introduced the other members of his company and again thanked Fandral for his help.

"No more than what ought to be done," Fandral said. He remembered now why David Nolan had seemed slightly familiar; he had nearly run down the Asgardians with his truck. "Prince David, perhaps you can help us. We are looking for the brother of one of my friends, Thor. Perhaps you have knowledge of his whereabouts?"

"You'll just have to look for him," David told him, still walking. He had a brisk pace, Fandral appreciated that. Matthew trotted to keep up. "There is a lot of finding people that has to happen."

"No, you misunderstand the importance of this issue," Fandral insisted. "Thor's brother is in this village, and I fear that for cause of that, you are all in great peril. He is _dangerous._"

Regina jerked to halt and turned a fearful look upon him. "Loki?" she barely dared to inquire.

"Indeed," Fandral said solemnly.

Matthew started. "You _knew _who he was?"

"Wait, you said that Loki was Tom Hemming, the assistant librarian," Emma, the blonde woman, said to her son, Henry. The boy nodded in confirmation. "The one who fought against Rumplestiltskin."

"I thought I had finally gotten rid of him," Regina said miserably. "Once I had realized who Rumplestiltskin had brought… I shut down the library. Closed all the doors, made him leave. He was walking out of town when the hospital called about Henry."

"Aye, and he was about to cross the border when he caught sight of us," Fandral said somberly. "He fled back within this town, and when we had nearly caught up with him, he slipped through Yggdrasil's branches to places unknown. I fear for your town, Prince David. When Loki was last in this realm, his rage nearly tore it apart."

His rage?" Matthew echoed, brow crinkling in puzzlement. "Why would—oh." For some reason his hand went to his opposite arm, and an expression of sad understanding was upon his face. "Oh. He's hurt."

"I don't know about hurt," Fandral said doubtfully. "But he is certainly mad."

"You can never know a pain until you've been in it, Mr. Fandral," Matthew said quietly. "And I know Mr. Hemming's pain, because he knows mine." His eyes closed, his voice lowering to barely audible levels. "Broken trust."

Fandral wondered what that could mean. He turned to ask Matthew, but he was gone. He caught the barest glimpse of the boy, bare of foot and running swift as a wolf. Midgard had certainly turned strange over the centuries.

"Where's he off to?" David wondered. Fandral shrugged. Henry had a knowing look on his face, but he decided not to say anything, not yet. Matthew was a smart kid, and now that the Curse had broken there was a certain strength about him. He could handle himself.

Regina was trembling. She had not recovered from the shock of learning that Loki was nowhere near being gone. "I thought I had gotten rid of him," she stammered. "I thought we were _safe._"

"I am afraid, Regina, that safety will not be a remote possibility while Loki remains on this world," Fandral replied. "Prince David, would you mind stepping aside for a moment?"

David's brow furrowed in confusion, but he obliged. Fandral nodded thanks, then snapped his sword from its sheath and pressed the blade against Regina's throat. The humans exclaimed in shock and Regina went stiff.

"I have killed a goodly number of witches with this blade, Regina," Fandral said coolly. "I am rather certain you do not wish to be added to the list."

"What is the meaning of this?" Regina demanded. Her voice was calm, but Fandral could see the frantic pulse throbbing in her neck.

"We do not come here for Loki alone," Fandral growled. "It was Thor's youngest brother who led the way. And you took something from him: you took his wife." He slid the blade and stepped closer, cold blue eyes glaring into Regina's shadowed brown ones, and he bit out his next three words furiously. "Where. Is. Julia."

* * *

"You dislike separation," Lillian noted as she looked over at Volstagg. The girthsome warrior had again paused and looked in the direction Matthew and Fandral had left.

"Yes, I dislike it," Volstagg said honestly. He smiled. "And, though he would be furious with me for saying it, I feel rather concerned for Fandral when I am not looking after him. He is the youngest, and while certainly noble and able in a fight, he focuses more on the fun and less on the peril." A worried look came across his face. "It was that same manner, the manner that is so very Fandral, that nearly saw him slain on Jotunheim. If it hadn't been for Loki, I would have lost a very dear friend that day. They are all dear to me, of course, but Fandral, to me, is the brother I never had."

"Loki," Lillian murmured. Her fingers tugged at the bridge of the glasses hanging from her neck. "Then he wasn't always dangerous."

"If he weren't a danger to others, we wouldn't have hunted him all this way," Balder said.

"And, I suspect, you wouldn't be under this condition," Lillian added shrewdly. Her darkly colored eyes were sharp.

"Doubtful," was Balder's surprising reply. "I just wouldn't have had friends to help me through the last steps." He winced, breath hissing between his teeth, and Volstagg gave Lillian a worried look, asking if it was much further to her home.

"Just another turn," Lillian assured him. A moment later she gestured. "There, the house near the end."

"Blue," Balder noted, and a wavering smile appeared. "I think I approve." Volstagg chuckled. They made it to the house and Lillian unlocked the front door, calling loudly, "Charlene! I need hot water, towels and bandages, stat!"

"You're lucky I haven't put anything in the soup yet," a woman's voice called back. "The water just came up to a boil. Is something wrong, Lillian?"

Volstagg and Balder took in the cozy interior of the house. There were a good number of boxes scattered about, some open, most sealed. Evidently the house was not fully prepared, but already there was a comfortable feel of home about it. The colors were warm and welcoming, as was the air.

"This may sound bizarre, my dear," said Lillian, "but there's a young man here and I'm trying to help him before he dies of a curse." Lillian hoped there wouldn't be a panicked shout of _you're crazy!_ from the kitchen.

"Oh, only that?" was Charlene's reply. "Hold on, I'll be a moment or two."

Bustling could be heard in the kitchen. Lillian brought Volstagg into the living room and guided him to a sofa. She lowered the back and had him place Balder there. The young Asgardian had a strange look on his face, a slightly glazed appearance to his eyes. It was probably due to his pain. Lillian looked around the room, clicking her tongue, and a black cat appeared, its yellow eyes looking around with mild interest.

Lillian quickly opened Balder's tunic, grimacing at the grey stone that encased most of his torso and belly. She pulled a notebook from her pocket and wrote for a moment, rolling up the paper. She gave it to the cat, who clasped it delicately between its teeth. "Take this to Mr. Starr," Lillian instructed the cat. "And be quick!"

The cat nodded and sped away. Volstagg looked curiously at Lillian. "Are you a witch?" he asked.

Lillian chuckled softly and shook her head. "Oh, certainly not," she replied. "Sir, I am what one might call a—forgive me, I just realized I don't know either of your names."

"Volstagg," Volstagg introduced himself, bowing his head respectfully. "And this…"

"Is Dusk," Balder finished. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress a grimace.

A woman entered the room, carrying a bowl of steaming water, small white towels over her arm. She was raven-haired, and Volstagg smiled at the sight of her round, pregnant belly. The creation of life was always a beautiful thing. Lillian went over to the woman, kissing both cheeks, and they smiled at each other lovingly.

"Hello, Mother," Charlene said fondly. "We were cursed to forget who we were to each other, and yet we still found one another."

Volstagg's hand was on Balder's shoulder. He could feel the young Asgardian go stiff and then start trembling without control, his breath quick and frantic. He looked down at Balder with concern, and the eyes that looked back up at him burned with confusion and hope. "Is that—"

Lillian returned to Balder, her daughter a few steps behind. Charlene's breath left her, and she dropped the bowl in her hands. She stood frozen, not even seeming to realize that scalding water had splashed all over her legs. She seemed unable to move, unable to speak. Balder, in contrast, could not stop shaking, and tears already soaked his cheeks.

"Dusk?" Charlene whispered.

"Julia," Balder rasped.

* * *

Loki appeared somewhere in the forests surrounding Storybrooke, collapsing immediately after arriving, unable to conjure enough breath to scream or enough strength to writhe. Panting, he laid limply on the ground, soil and needles falling into his mouth. Shadows danced around his vision, death whispering in his ears. His chest rose and fell rapidly, feebly trying to cling to life.

He was alone. And wasn't that just right? Darkness encroached, and Loki closed his eyes as he succumbed to the pain and let go of the desire to live, feeling his heart struggle out a last few beats, his lungs take in their final breath of air.

A palm pressed against Loki's chest even as he slipped away, and then Loki could feel something familiar and almost kind reach in, take hold of his spirit, and pull him back in. Loki's eyes slowly opened, world spinning in reaction to the agony pulsing through his body. He took in a pair of polished black shoes, and weathered hands pulled him upright, propping his back against the trunk of a tree. Loki's head lolled weakly.

He still could barely see. He could feel the hands gripping his shoulder, and then the arrow torn out. Loki screamed, the noise gurgling in this throat. A palm pressed on his shoulder too and Loki could feel the angry fire there fade, too.

His vision finally came into focus and he stared into the strange brown eyes of Rumplestiltskin. "Viper," he rasped angrily. "Take even my chance at death, will you?"

Mr. Gold smiled. "Would you call that thievery, Loki?" he inquired. "No. You and I both know you have much desire to live yet. But perhaps not in the fashions you've endured so far: a lie, a bloodbath, and another lie. Perhaps fourth time shall be the charm."

He set Balder's arrow in Loki's left hand, and Loki wasn't sure why. His own blood soaked into his palm. Mr. Gold rose back to his feet, his sway steadied by the young woman who stood at his side. Loki didn't know her.

The pawnbroker turned away and climbed out of the hollow, aided again by the woman at his side. The glances she sent Loki were both piteous and wondering. He hated it.

"Gold," Loki croaked, then corrected himself. "Rumplestiltskin."

Rumplestiltskin turned around and looked down at him, not speaking in reply. The woman's light eyes were curious.

"I know you have brought magic back to this realm, and you yet hold mine captive. Return it to me."

"The deal was struck long ago, Loki," Mr. Gold replied mildly. "I suggest you get used to it."

"I will pay whichever price you name," Loki insisted. His fingers dug at the cold needles and soil, nervous.

"No."

"I _need_ it," Loki said urgently, desperation tingeing his voice. He longed to jump to his feet and fiercely argue his point, but he could barely move. He could barely feel himself, now.

Mr. Gold's gaze was curious. "Your brother is here," he realized, then nodded with an expression that lacked surprise. "I had thought he would come eventually, but not with this much haste. He must have gotten help."

"It's not just—" Loki cursed the waver in his voice and tried to govern his tones. "It's not just Thor. Thor I can handle without magic." The knobs in the tree were digging harshly into Loki's back, pushing bruises into his flesh.

"Ah yes: your master." Somehow Loki was not surprised that Mr. Gold knew. "Whom you failed. Really, Loki, do you think that _your_ magic will protect you from him?"

"_Please,_ Rumplestiltskin," Loki forced himself to beg. He was already helpless, already lying in the dirt like a worm, so he may as well beg. "Cease the idle chatter and tell me your price."

"Rumplestiltskin, who is this?" the woman asked, and Loki knew she was not among the ordinary townsfolk.

"Don't worry, Belle," Mr. Gold assured her, his eyes turning soft as he glanced at her. "Just an old friend."

Loki laughed weakly. "If this is how you treat your friends, then your lover would be wise to run away while she can," he sneered.

"I will never do anything to harm Belle, and she knows it," Mr. Gold replied calmly. Belle's expression was concerned as she looked at Loki. It burned him to see the pity in her eyes. "I also have done nothing to hurt you, except when you have forced my hand."

"You _cursed_ me!" Loki snarled.

"Yes, I did," Mr. Gold didn't bother to deny it. "It was a deal. And you nearly killed yourself now because of it. You're lucky I was nearby.

"Lucky?" Loki chuckled bitterly. "I was committing suicide, Rumplestiltskin."

And that, of all things, was what silenced the imp. Loki could hear a crow hoarse shout off in the distance. "Not so certain that Matthew would be pleased about that," Rumplestiltskin said at last, and Loki went stiff, something strange pulsing inside. "I can't give your magic back, Loki. No matter what price I may choose, I cannot propose it."

"Rumple—" Belle started anxiously.

"Why?" Loki demanded.

"You know why," Mr. Gold answered. "A few more minutes to yourself and I'm sure you'll figure it out. Goodbye, Loki."

"Rumplestiltskin—Gold! You can't do this!" Loki hollered. Mr. Gold left the hollow for the last time, Belle at his side. The imp didn't answer but continued on his way, ignoring Loki's shouts. After he was gone, Loki collapsed breathless against the tree once more.

Belle looked over at Rumplestiltskin. "Who _is_ his master?" she asked.

Mr. Gold shook his head. "Trust me, Belle, that is a question you don't want the answer to," he told her.

"You've known him a long time," Belle said, wisely making the connections. "That's why he's so wary of you, and why he hated it so much when you said he was a friend." She paused. "I don't think I've ever heard you call someone a friend before."

"It has been a while," Rumplestiltskin agreed. "Come on, Belle, let's get back to town. You've been stuck in these rags long enough."

* * *

Thor watched as Sif and Hogun went in different directions, eyes roving the foliage, fingers brushing needles. Though a mighty warrior, tracking wasn't Thor's greatest skill, and tracking Loki? Not something he could ever achieve, and—he was ashamed to admit it—he didn't know Loki well enough to understand where he would go. He barely knew Loki at all.

"This way," Hogun said, his eyes fixed to sky. "He went north."

"He did indeed," Sif agreed, her gaze flicking up. Hogun led the way, following trails invisible to Thor's eyes and shadowed to Sif's.

* * *

Matthew closed his eyes as he pulled air through his nostrils, allowed the taste of it to roll over his tongue. Many were the things a man could sense and pay no heed to, but Mowgli had been raised up by the jungle and its peoples, and he had learned to pay the deepest attention to his instincts.

He opened his eyes again and crouched down, fingers brushing the fallen conifer needles coating the forest floor. There was no natural trail for him to track Mr. Hemming, not since he had used magic to escape. Matthew shook his head. He still couldn't get over the fact that Mr. Hemming had _magic._

Or that Mr. Hemming had attacked him. Matthew didn't understand that, didn't understand that one bit. Mr. Hemming was his friend, his _best friend._ What he had done back there was so not him. But, he was being hunted and was greatly confused.

Fandral and his friends called him Loki, and said that he was evil. Matthew couldn't believe that. He couldn't let himself forget the morning out on the docks, cold pancakes and waffles, Mr. Hemming's intricate whistling. He couldn't release the memory of happiness and safety he'd had curled into Mr. Hemming's side last night, feeling him breathe and listening to him as he read aloud, bringing a whole world into Matthew's mind with only his voice. He couldn't abandon the way it had felt to trust someone again.

Mr. Hemming was not evil. Matthew refused to accept that lie. No one evil, even if cursed to forget, could become like Mr. Hemming. There was good in him, so much good, and Matthew had to bring it back up to the surface. He had done it before and he would do it again. He couldn't give up on his best friend; everyone else already had.

Matthew straightened up and cast an eye about his surroundings, wondering which direction he should go. There was no physical trail for him, not a trace, and a feeling of despair sank inside him. What if Fandral's friends found Mr. Hemming first, captured him? Frightened tears surfaced and Matthew quickly dashed them away.

East. Mr. Hemming loved _Lord of the Rings_, and often Matthew would catch him murmuring Elvish tunes or Hobbit travelling songs. In _Lord of the Rings_, Mr. Hemming had mentioned the fellowship was travelling ever eastward. Maybe that's where Mr. Hemming had gone.

Deciding to follow his hunch, Matthew picked up his shoes again and ran east, his swift brown feet tossing dead needles into the air. The shadows were lengthening and the sky beginning to turn a dark gray. Matthew's steps faltered when the stink of blood hit his nose. "Mr. Hemming?" he called.

He did not see the shadow that rose up behind him, a rock clenched in pale, cruel fingers. A whisper of sound caught the boy's ears and he quickly turned, only for the rock to connect solidly with his skull.


	18. Chapter 17

_**Author's**_** notes:**_ I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I can't stop writing all these feels. I am so done with everything._

_Balder & Julia and David & Mary Margaret can really relate. They'll always find each other. (aw man, shouldn't have said that, now there's something in my eye...)_

**_Warnings: _**_Well, I already mentioned the feels, so that would be redundant. Little bit of violence/gore. Have I brought up feels yet?  
_

* * *

"Is it really you?" Charlene whispered. In truth, she was Balder's wife, Julia. The woman's face was pale and still she seemed too shocked to even tremble. Hot water spattered the grey denim covering her legs, and she had yet to react to it.

Balder couldn't muster words, and Volstagg could feel his shaking all the way up to his shoulder. The younger Asgardian struggled out a nod. Julia sobbed and flew into his arms, dodging around furniture and people as though they didn't matter in the slightest. And they didn't, not now. Balder held her close, tears mixing into her raven hair. "Julia," he whispered, and it sounded like a prayer that had come true. "Julia."

They parted and looked into each other's eyes, blue and brown. Balder touched her hands, her hair, her face. Her wedding band was still where he had so gently placed all that time ago. She still had the same dark freckle above her upper lip. Her skin felt even softer against his fingers than it had in the past. Her eyes shone, and he knew that his did, too. "You're here," he cried. "You're alive." He looked down and his eyebrows lifted in astonishment. "You're pregnant?!"

Julia laughed. Her fingers were weaving through Balder's hair, stroking his face, and he submitted joyfully to the touch. "She's ours," she told Balder.

Balder the Bright outshone every star. His pain was forgotten, fully overwhelmed by his sheer ecstasy. He pulled Julia closer and they kissed, lips joining in the way they had been designed. There are times when a kiss can say thousands more than any words. This was one of those times, joy and delight and pain and sorrow and longing and peace all colliding together and they both understood.

Volstagg smiled, quietly weeping, and exchanged looks with Lillian. Silently they agreed to let the reunited couple have their moments of peace, and exited the room. Lillian only stepped back in to set down a refilled bowl of water.

Julia's lips left Balder's, pulling slightly, and he could feel her long lashes against his forehead. He had forgotten the way it tickled, like the softest of feathers. "I'm going to be a _father_," Balder said in amazement. Julia smiled, radiant.

But even bliss will be broken. Balder's pain stabbed from within him again, and his breath hissed inward, delighted expression twisting into a grimace. Julia's face creased in concern. "You're hurt," she said, and Balder nodded, his jaw set tight. The backs of her fingers stroked the taut muscles soothingly. "I guess I'll have to heal you now."

"Like when we first met," Balder remarked. His teeth were still clenched, but his eyes smiled. Julia stood up and retrieved the new bowl of hot water Lillian had left for her to use, unfolding a white towel and soaking it in the steaming water. "Do you remember that, Julia?"

Her lips turned up, gaze turning distant. "You were practically dead upon your feet," she recalled. "Blood pouring out from a thousand wounds. Fool that you were, you had thought you could take on an entire nest of gryphons, in order to save the lives of the young girls being sacrificed."

"And I did," Balder said proudly. Julia turned away from her activity and tapped a scolding knuckle on his forehead.

"And it nearly killed you," she replied. "Oh, how the fever in your body raged. You responded to nothing. You weren't even healing. Many said that your mind had already departed, and was only waiting for the body to follow behind."

"But you brought me back," Balder said quietly. His fingers interlaced with his wife's, keeping her from returning to her task. "Even before I knew you, my soul understood. It had found its other half. I was worlds away from where I had been born, and I was finally home." Tears fell from his eyes. "I am so glad I found you, Julia," he whispered.

Julia knelt and kissed him, passionate yet gentle. "We are going to save you again, Balder," she vowed. "Mother and I shall use all the knowledge in our possession." Balder's impressed look was clearly exaggerated, and she batted his face playfully. "That is a lot, by the way."

"I do not doubt it," Balder replied. His teasing look had dropped to utter solemnity. "I've been told that your mother beat Rumplestiltskin in a riddle game once, and that was with him cheating."

Julia chuckled. "Now that is a story she neither confirms nor denies," she answered.

* * *

Volstagg sat at the dining room table, at Lillian's insistence, and watched as she prepared some tea. She greatly reminded Volstagg of his own wife, back home on Asgard, and he wondered what she was doing right now. It was probably nearing the end of supper. It would be soothing stories at the fire (the wild tales were left to Volstagg, and they were his special delight), and after the many little ones were finally put to bed, she would sit by the fire and knit, humming the special tunes that only she and Volstagg knew.

Those tunes she remembered from the first days he had courted her, many centuries ago, the many love songs he had tried to serenade her with. He was a much more oblivious boy back then, utterly lacking Fandral's skill for charm, and yet the woman who would someday be Volstagg's wife fell in love with him anyway. She had told him that it was because she could see his heart clearer than the day.

Lillian set a full mug of tea in front of Volstagg, its pleasant aromas curling up into his nostrils. She sat down across from him, smoothing the dark blue folds of her dress' skirt over her lap. "I'm conflicted," she admitted to the Asgardian, who looked at her quizzically. "There are two matters I greatly wish to discuss," Lillian elaborated. "This young man here," she said, gesturing to Balder. "And my boy, Tom. But I think you call him Loki?"

"We do," Volstagg replied. He sipped at the tea, appreciating the blend of flavors. His wife would likely want the recipe. "May I ask; why do people here refer to each other by _two_ names?"

"It's a result of the Curse," Lillian explained. "You came in just as it broke, I suspect. Everyone here, myself included, has two lives. One is real, and the other… well, I'm not sure yet. In my first life, my first home, the young lady in there was my oldest daughter, Julia. The Curse took away our memories of each other and replaced them with new ones, new names too. She become Charlene Boxer and I, Lillian Williams. In this world, I had no children, and she had no husband."

"Why would anyone wish to do that?" Volstagg asked. He set his mug down, his expression aghast.

"I don't understand it myself," Lillian replied honestly. She sighed, staring down into her tea. "Regina is a woman full of hate, she lets it fuel her and direct her. That makes her capable of indescribably cruel things. Such as casting a Curse over an entire realm with the purpose of taking away the thing you love most. For me it was my daughter. For my daughter it was her husband. For the Prince and Snow White, it was each other."

"How awful," Volstagg murmured. He couldn't bear the thought of being separated by force from his family—even worse, forgetting he ever had them. This Regina sounded even more cruel a person than Loki had ever shaped himself to be.

"But, Tom," Lillian said, her gaze troubled. "Or Loki, or whatever. Matthew said he _attacked_ him, and that's just not the Tom I know."

"Nor is it the Loki I used to know," Volstagg said sadly. "It, I am afraid, is a very, very long story."

"Well, you're fortunate," Lillian informed him. "I'm a big fan of long stories. I've written a good number of them." She took a drink from her tea; evidently the piping heat was something that did not concern her.

"I am not certain you could endure the retelling of a millennium," Volstagg answered, and noted Lillian's calm nod. She was not unfamiliar with the immortal. Volstagg found himself curious about the woman sitting across the table from him. How many secrets did she hold?

"Very well, perhaps you can just answer a few questions," she suggested. "How could Tom, who is pacifist almost to a fault, be the same person as Loki, who threatened to kill a nine-year-old child? I've never seen Tom lift a finger against someone else—in fact, I've only seen him angry twice in the thirteen years I've known him. First when he learned that his best friend, Matthew, was being abused by his father, and second, when Regina shut down the library. He lives there, it's his home. So how could he _possibly_ be this villain you came here to catch?"

"That is a difficult question to answer," Volstagg confessed. He paused to gather his words. "This Tom you describe, while a fair amount more humble, sounds very much like the Loki that I used to know. In old times, he was quiet and cleverly spoken, and though he had a great fondness for mischief, I knew his kindness toward children was great. He would often slip away from the palace to visit my young ones."

"You struck me as a father," Lillian said with a smile. Volstagg smiled back.

"They are my greatest joys," he said lovingly.

"So…" Lillian frowned, as though she knew what pain would come from her next question. "How did that Loki turn into the Loki you're looking for now?"

"I don't know the whole story," Volstagg said quietly. "In truth, none of us do, and I doubt Loki would be willing to tell. But from what I have learned, what undid Loki in the end was learning of his origins. He is not Asgardian, like the rest of us, and he didn't know. None of us did."

"Then what is he?" Again, Volstagg noted the lack of disturbance in Lillian's features. She was neither intimidated by immortals nor creatures entirely inhuman.

"A Frost Giant of Jotunheim," Volstagg answered her. "Jotunheim has been the greatest enemy of Asgard for longer than our world's memory goes back. They tried to bind all the realms in ice, and we and Vanaheim stood alone against them. At last we defeated them, but at heavy costs to all sides."

"The Ice Ages," Lillian realized, moving the lip of her mug away from her mouth. "They came here, too." Volstagg didn't understand her terms, but he knew what she meant. He nodded.

"The Allfather has not told us why he brought back a Jotun infant to raise as his own," Volstagg continued. "Much less the son of Laufey, King of Jotunheim. But I believe I understand the reasons." He hesitated before choosing to continue. "I was young when the Jotun wars ended; on the cusp of battle-worthy age. The war had gone on for centuries upon centuries, on realms even beyond the Nine. Odin had been king through all of it, and he must have been weary, so weary of the bloodshed when that day in Jotunheim came. And seeing a child—a baby who had done no wrong—mercy must have stirred in his heart."

Volstagg paused thoughtfully. "I have not said as much to my companions—their hearts are much harder toward Frost Giants than mine, and I do not blame them—but if I were in the Allfather's position, I would have done the same thing."

"The spirit of adoption is a powerful, wonderful thing," Lillian agreed.

"But Loki did not understand that," Volstagg said regretfully. "He went mad, and eventually tried to tear Jotunheim apart. He nearly succeeded. If it hadn't been for Thor, his elder brother, he would have. I suppose he thought that… that if he destroyed all the monsters, he wouldn't have to be one."

"Oh my gosh," Lillian murmured. Deep pain was writ across her face, and Volstagg knew his expression mirrored.

"Thor stopped him," Volstagg continued. "But in the end, Loki fell. Let go and dropped off the edge of Asgard. We thought him dead for a year, until he reemerged here, on Midgard, his mind more twisted and cruel than I had ever known it could be. He brought an army with him, and killed thousands of humans that day. Again it was Thor who stopped him, aided by new friends of this world."

"Manhattan," Lillian realized. "The slaughter in Manhattan back in May, almost a year ago… that was him." Again Volstagg nodded, and Lillian swore softly, her expression utterly horrified. "My god, what happened to him when he fell? How could _anyone_ become that? Much less Tom…"

"But there is something I must say, Lillian," Volstagg continued. "This Tom you have described… it is as if, even after all of this, the Curse stripped Loki away to his true core. Perhaps, having so recently been this kind, caring man… perhaps there is hope."

"You don't hate him," Lillian stated. Relief was in her gaze.

"What he has done is despicable," Volstagg admitted. He would not be dishonest. "Completely indefensible, in fact. But, in Loki's absence… I, at least, have come to realize how valuable he has always been. Many times it was Loki who saved our hides, yet few times it was that we thanked him. In fact, we frequently mocked him." Volstagg's eyes closed, and he felt his shame twist within. "It is a wonder Loki did not turn on us centuries ago."

"I am an optimist by nature, Volstagg," Lillian told the Asgardian. "So I too believe there is hope. I've known Tom for thirteen years—or at least I've thought I have. He even lived in my house for a little while, though he was never really comfortable. It wasn't until recently that he began to soften towards other people, and that was because of Matthew."

"He was hostile previously?" Volstagg queried. He took up his mug again, noticing that the dregs were not far off. This was good tea.

"No," said Lillian, then added with some hesitation. "He was afraid. Tom's father was abusive, and Tom never entirely recovered from that. It wasn't until he found that Matthew was in the same situation that he really stepped forward on his own. I'd never been so proud of him as I was in that moment. He's making friends, accepting people into his fold. And even when he was just Tom, he was learning to defend them."

"Loki was never an aggressive man by nature," Volstagg reflected. "It made life very difficult for him on Asgard. Though I will admit, I have rarely met any men whose protective instincts match his. I would imagine that here, they've grown."

"Why would you think that?" Lillian wondered, her expression curious.

"Matthew," Volstagg replied simply.

There were a number of sharp, excited knocks on the front door. Volstagg reached it before Lillian and Julia, and when he opened it, Fandral was on the other side. "Volstagg!" he exclaimed with rapture. "I've learned where—oh." He blinked at Balder and Julia in surprise. "Oh, you've already found her. Never mind. I always find out about things too late," he muttered to himself in embarrassment.

"Come in, Fandral," Lillian said warmly. "We had begun to wonder what became of you." She stopped. "Where's Matthew?"

"He ran off nearly an hour ago," Fandral replied. Worry entered his gaze. "I thought he had returned here."

Lillian's face drained of color, and she set a hand on Volstagg's shoulder. "Volstagg," she stammered. "Has Loki… has he ever hurt children?"

"They are among his victims, yes," Volstagg said with a grieved wince. Fandral's face turned sorrowful.

"Matthew," Lillian whispered, and her legs nearly buckled underneath her. Julia shot upright and rushed toward her. "He's gone to look for Tom. But if Tom is dangerous now… he attacked Matthew once, if Matthew goes after him…"

Fandral and Volstagg went pale. "We need to find Loki," they said in unison.

"Thank you for the tea, Lillian," Volstagg said. "I shall have to obtain the recipe for my wife." He took her hands gently. "We will find Matthew and return him safely," he promised.

"Just don't hurt Tom either," Lillian replied. Julia had reached her and wrapped her arms around her mother's shoulders.

Volstagg didn't answer, but he hoped he could keep that request also, and he and Fandral quickly left the house. Balder frowned from where he lay on the sofa. "And I'll just lie here and pretend that I'm useful," he grumbled bitterly.

Julia turned her head to look at her husband. "You're as much of a fighting spirit as ever, I see," she remarked. Balder looked back at her unhappily.

Light scratching sounded from the other side of the door, and Lillian composed herself and opened it. The cat returned, bearing a unique harness that carried a pair of sealed baskets. "Thank you," she said to the cat, taking the baskets and pulling the harness off. It meowed, yellow eyes flicking briefly over to Balder, then left without another sound.

"Now we have something to start with," Lillian said to Julia, who nodded. "Dusk, we need to get you upstairs. Think you can manage?"

"I think I could fly into the sun if I desired it," Balder replied. "I, however, do not. Stairs will suffice."

* * *

Loki regarded Matthew impassively. Impassively, that is, until an overwhelming concern built up within and he feared that he may have killed the boy. He dropped the rock and knelt by the boy's side, quickly turning him over and checking that he was still alive. The side of his head was bloodied, but the boy was still breathing steady. Loki sighed in relief.

"Fool of a prince!" he berated himself. "Attacking children now, are we?" Why did he even care? Why should he? There wasn't time to contemplate the issue, however. They couldn't stay out here in the open.

Loki lifted the unconscious boy into his arms and carried him away, heading further into the forest. He soon reached a pleasant hollow, smaller and more shielded than the one he had first come to, and there he set the boy down, resting him gently against a tree.

He took several steps back and regarded the child, debating his next actions. He had carried the mortal all this way, so there wasn't much point in leaving him behind now. But _why,_ Loki wondered, _why_ had Matthew come out here? Loki had tried to kill him a handful of hours ago and this just didn't make sense. Why in the Nine would the boy seek out the one who would have murdered him, as though they were still…

Friends. Loki turned away quickly, tears pushing at his tightly pressed eyelids. Matthew couldn't possibly think he and Loki were friends. He couldn't. Tom Hemming was dead, just as… just as Matthew Frog was dead. Replaced by some unknown child with an unknown history and views on the world. Matthew was gone, and so was Tom. There was no friendship to be had.

Loki would leave the boy. That made sense, didn't it? Yes, he would leave the boy, and slip away before—_no._ No, he couldn't do that. There were beasts in this wood, and Loki could not leave an incapacitated Matthew to their mercies. He was allergic to everything that moved, for Hati's sake! So what to do?

Loki glanced up as he realized the sky was growing ever darker. He couldn't light a fire, not with Thor and the others looking for him, but he had always proven resistant to the cold. Matthew, however, did not have that advantage. Unfortunately, all Loki had with him was a scarf. His satchel he had dropped when fleeing from Thor, which he seriously regretted now. He hoped it wouldn't rain; the water would ruin the books from Lillian.

Why would he care about gifts from a _mortal?_ And a woman, besides! Loki shook his head in exasperation with himself and untied the scarf from around his neck, which he had managed to keep unbloodied from his once-injured shoulder. He cleaned out the cut on Matthew's forehead as best as he could and used the yellow scarf as a makeshift bandage. It folded securely, and Loki knew that it would do the task sufficiently for now.

He remembered Fandral, chuckling through his clenched teeth as Loki applied a poultice to his ravaged leg. _"You're such a mother."_ _"And you're such a fool,"_ Loki had returned. _"I've never met anyone with such a level of stupidity that they would stand between a bear and her cub." "How many times do I have to tell you I didn't know the cub was there! _Mother_."_ The others had laughed, and for a good number of weeks they teasingly referred to him as their mother. It was embarrassing, and yet somehow Loki had found that he had enjoyed it. Not that he had ever said so. It would have ended the game too soon.

Loki backed away from Matthew and sat down nearby, his spine erect against a tree's rough bark as his eyes roved the darkening forest.

* * *

He was wandering the halls of the library, nervously watching the grotesque, angry faces that snarled at him, carved from living wood. Growls echoed softly through the library's aisles.

"You don't belong here."

Loki's head snapped to his left as he caught the sound of his own voice, and saw himself on the other end of the aisle, walking in perfect time. More accurately, he saw Tom Hemming. Loki was clad in his battle armor; the same uniform he had worn to war that day on Midgard. The librarian was dressed like a Midgardian peasant; a green and yellow scarf loosely enveloped his throat. Hideous, _hideous_ Frost Giant markings were across his face.

"I belong wherever I choose," Loki sneered back. The fingers of his right hand curled, and in response a knife slid into place.

"That isn't true, and we both know it," the librarian replied. His blue eyes were hard. "You don't belong anywhere, because you're a monster."

Cold swept into Loki, freezing the air in his throat. The warm lights of the library turned ugly red. Loki looked down and saw that his skin had transformed, just as it had in the weapons' vault of Asgard, dusky blue and writ with tattoos, identical to those on the librarian's skin. His knife clattered to the floor, abandoned for his shock. "I am not a monster," Loki insisted, voice trembling. "I am Asgardian. _I am not a monster!_"

"Yes, you are," the librarian replied quietly. "World-killer, they call you on Jotunheim. You murdered your own brother, and then you tried again. You sent the Destroyer to slaughter your brother's closest friends. And then you failed, and you ran away. You turned people into puppets, and commanded them to slay their comrades. You sent war into a world that had done nothing against you. And now you tried to kill a _child_, the boy who _I _saved. You tried to murder your closest—your only!—friend."

"He's not my friend," Loki spat. He wanted to curse this chill away, force it out of himself with hot rage, but the more his emotions churned, the more frozen he felt.

The librarian shook his head in weariness. "You're a monster," he said tiredly. "And it is such a disappointment. You lack conviction. You're a monster, because that is what you have chosen."

Loki went stiff. "What did you say?" he hissed.

"You lack conviction." Loki spun and there he was, the mortal called Coulson. Blood soaked his garb of black and white suit, and he looked at Loki blandly. Again came those accursed words, the human's last words: "You're gonna lose. You lack conviction."

"You can't outrun them," the librarian said harshly, and he sounded pleased. "The Asgardians, your master… they'll catch up with you. And then…" He whistled a few bars. And from the dredges of Tom Hemming's memory, Loki identified it: _Kill the Beast._

The scepter was in Loki's hand. He screamed and surged forward, running the librarian through. But it wasn't the librarian at all, no, it was _Thor's_ lifeless body that stared up at him. "No, no," Loki whispered. He turned and fled from the library, but there was no street outside the door, only empty space and he was falling and ohpleasenoherecamethe_monsters._

* * *

Lillian came back downstairs, leaving Julia to help Balder on her own. Her daughter was a fully capable healer, and besides, this would only take a few minutes. Lillian was somewhat embarrassed that she hadn't thought of it earlier.

"Granny's Diner," a voice chirped on the other end.

"I need to speak with Ruby," Lillian told the unknown woman, and pushed all her fear into her words. "Please, it's urgent."

Ruby was on the line within seconds. "Hello?"

"Ruby, it's Lillian," Lillian said. "I need to ask: have you seen Matthew."

"No, not since breakfast this morning," Ruby replied. "Maybe he's with Tom."

"That would be the problem," Lillian replied. "Ruby, you're going to have trouble believing this, but Tom's other half? He's evil. Didn't always used to be, but he is now. If you remember hearing about what happened in Manhattan…"

Lillian could hear Ruby's breathing stop. "That was _Tom?_" she whispered in horror.

"We think Matthew went to look for him," Lillian told her. "But I had hoped…" She sighed.

"But, _Tom,_" Ruby stammered. "How could he ever—he wouldn't hurt anybody! _Especially _Matthew."

"I don't know," Lillian said softly. The fingers of her other hand curled into a tight, confused fist. "He's a man whose had his heart broken, by people he trusted for _centuries._ Tom is very old, Ruby. A trust he had held for his whole life, a certainty of his own identity, was shattered. And now… The ones who came here looking for him, for the most part, don't believe there's a hope for him."

"Matthew does," Ruby said instantly. "He wouldn't have gone looking for him if he didn't. I'm going to find them," she decided. "I'm a natural-born tracker, it won't be hard."

"Be careful," Lillian urged.

"I will," Ruby promised. She hung up, and Lillian lowered her phone with a tense sigh. What was happening to their town? Julia called from upstairs, asking for more water, and Lillian reminded herself to focus. There was work to do.

* * *

Mr. Gold had not anticipated still being in the forest after dark, but the run-in was Loki had taken out some time, and there was still Regina to contend with. He had awoken the wraith (and he was quite satisfied with that handiwork), and was now another ten minutes away from his car.

He looked up at the woman who was abruptly looming over him. She was neither cursed nor the Savior, and she glared down at him fiercely. Though Mr. Gold was greatly surprised, he didn't let any of that reach his face. The Lady Sif hadn't even bothered to mask her shorn locks, and it seemed that she could be very well bent on murder.

"Rumplestiltskin," Sif growled. She was no longer afraid of Gold, and as he took note of her grim companions he knew why: she had nothing left to hide.

"Can I help you with something, Lady Sif?" Mr. Gold asked, a look of sincere inquiry upon his face. His gaze flicked to the sword in her hand. While Sif certainly couldn't kill him, there was little doubt that she could bring about some damage.

The warrioress' eyes burned with hatred. "I am not here to play your games, Rumplestiltskin," she snarled. The imp looked so much less threatening without his crocodile skin and predator's eyes, but the removed smile he turned upon her now was just the same as before.

"Games? No, Asgardians are not fond of the games of wit," Mr. Gold remarked. He smirked. "Except for Loki, as I recall, but you must know by now that he doesn't really count."

"You are aware of his heritage," Hogun realized, the distrust in his gaze deepening. Mr. Gold grinned.

"Oh, I've always known about that," he said flippantly. "I assume you're tracking him? You probably should know that you're going the wrong way."

"You know where he is?" Sif demanded.

"At this moment? No," Mr. Gold shook his head. "He came into the forest in a hollow a short ways from here, then headed east. He was on the verge of death when I found him."

"Death?" Thor repeated, concern strong in his gaze. "But Balder's arrow only pierced his shoulder…"

"His magic," Sif realized, remembering their deal. "You've rendered him harmless by binding his magic."

"Not an easy task, by the way," Mr. Gold informed her. "The magic in Loki's blood is thicker than the ice on Jotunheim. As a result, when he attempts to use it, the reaction is… severe. He was fortunate I was on hand to heal him."

"You healed him?" Sif cut Mr. Gold a curious glance.

"Just enough. His survival is one of the conditions of our deal, as I'm sure you recall," Mr. Gold pointed out calmly. Uncomfortable looks crossed the faces of all the Asgardians. "Knowing his nature, he'll have gotten miles away by now. Though, that does depend somewhat on his state of mind."

"What do you mean by that?" Thor asked. The fear in his gaze almost stirred pity within Mr. Gold's heart. Or what was left of it.

"He could barely talk straight for his terror," Mr. Gold said lightly. "One would think the hounds of Helheim were after him. I assumed that he had seen you. He was certainly panicked, and very much… Loki, if you know what I mean. But one never knows, his other half may prove its strength yet."

"Other half?" Thor questioned. Of course he had come charging in with miniscule amounts of knowledge.

"Loki has two lives challenging one another inside his mind," Mr. Gold decided to explain. "A predicament shared by nearly everyone in the town. The Loki you and I have become acquainted with, the one capable of waging war, is one half. The other, I suppose you could say, is the white to his black. He could be in a state of confusion for some time."

"Two lives in constant battle," Sif said in disgust. "You _would_ do that to an already tortured soul, imp."

"If you didn't want me to, you should have said so," Mr. Gold replied, one corner of his lips twitching up in a brief smirk. "Now, if you plan on catching Loki tonight, you had best change your direction. East, as I said. Now, if you'll excuse me, warriors of Asgard, I have important matters to tend do."

Sif hesitated and stepped aside. The other Æsir did as well—evidently they didn't want to make Mr. Gold cross. The pawnbroker continued on his way and felt some amount of relief that the warriors did not attempt to pursue him. That would only make things more complicated, and he was displeased as it was that Belle had encountered _Loki_ of all people.

Still, it was a good thing he and the Asgardians had stumbled onto each other's paths. Gold had to make certain that someone was able to stop Loki. The confusion of the sorcerer prince's mind would either suppress him to a more docile state, or stir up his rage to an even greater volume. If the latter were to occur, and Loki challenged Mr. Gold… well, it could lead to the death of a very old friend. As heartless as many people believed Mr. Gold to be, there were still a number of people he cared not to hurt.

He wondered how Sif and the other Asgardians had reached Storybrooke. Oh: the panthers' gateway. So Loki had been telling the truth. Now how had Bagheera allowed the likes of Sif to pass through, when he and his brethren guarded the gates so fiercely? And who was the Balder that Thor had mentioned, and how did he manage to strike Loki clean through with an arrow?

Too many questions. Mr. Gold did not relish the feeling of not knowing things. He ducked out of sight as Fandral and Volstagg rushed past, calling the names of their fellow warriors.

* * *

Loki hadn't realized he'd dropped off until he flinched back to alertness. He had remembered Tom Hemming having nightmares of him, but he had not expected to have nightmares of _Tom Hemming._ Tom Hemming didn't even exist.

Matthew came to at last, jerking awake with a look of fear in his eyes. Rather than satisfaction, Loki felt a stab of pain. He silently watched the boy, approving of the way he quickly took stock of his surroundings. He moved like a hunter, not prey.

Matthew's fingers touched the makeshift bandage around his head, recognizing the texture of the dry segments of the fabric. It was Mr. Hemming's scarf. And there was Mr. Hemming, barely visible through the dark, staring back at Matthew with an unreadable expression. At least, he hoped it was Mr. Hemming. Matthew reached for the knife he had borrowed from Balder, and wasn't surprised to learn that it was no longer there.

"I suppose I should apologize for the rock," Mr. Hemming said quietly, and his voice seemed different to Matthew. More polished and deliberate, less open and familiar. It was too cold out here; Matthew shivered in reaction.

"Yes, I suppose you should," Matthew agreed, telling himself to remain calm. His fingers couldn't seem to desist their fidgeting. "Oh, and for strangling me earlier. And threatening to _kill me._"

"Am I supposed to feel guilty for that?" The apathy in Mr. Hemming's tone was chilling. It sounded like Matthew's _father. _Matthew felt his anger flash, pushed on by the fear rooting in his gut.

"Yes!" he shouted. "You are supposed to feel god-awful _sick_ to your stomach! You're supposed to hate yourself! But maybe you already do. You just like to pretend that you don't."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mr. Hemming demanded, contained wrath in his tones. Matthew shrank back instinctively when the towering adult snapped to his feet in one solid motion, pale eyes glittering with hostility. "And what, pray tell, is a mortal child doing with a knife forged in Asgard?"

"It belongs to the man who shot you," Matthew replied. "Buddy, or something. Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"Fine," Mr. Hemming answered curtly. Matthew remembered the smell of blood he had caught before Mr. Hemming had knocked him out. "His name is Balder Odinson. He hasn't been involved in Asgardian business for… a while. Thor must have pleaded for his assistance."

"I think he might be dying," Matthew said quietly. "He collapsed after you disappeared. Said he couldn't move his leg anymore, and that Thor guy said something about a stone curse."

"Stone curse?" Mr. Hemming went stiff. "But the only creature capable of inflicting that is trapped in the v—oh." His eyes closed and he sighed. "Balder has expressed a preference for your home realm in the past. For the Curse to transport all the peoples, it must have carved a path right through the void. That's how Balder is trapped under the stone curse."

"Is there a cure?" Matthew asked. Mr. Hemming was talking to him willingly, that had to be a good sign. Matthew carefully rose to his feet.

"Perhaps." Mr. Hemming didn't look at him. Matthew made an aggravated noise.

"You're such a jerk now!" he exclaimed in frustration. "And evil! Mr. Hemming, the fact that your family betrayed you is no reason to turn around and hurt _everyone!_"

"What do you know of my family?" Mr. Hemming demanded. His words were ugly, and the emotions behind them even more so.

"I know that your hurt is no different than mine," Matthew replied. "You shouldn't be so determined to isolate yourself from the people who want to help you.

"Why did you come out here, Matthew?" Mr. Hemming growled in exasperation.

"Why?" Matthew echoed. "I don't know, really. I probably should stay away. I definitely should stay away, actually. But… you're my friend, Mr. Hemming."

"Mr. Hemming is false."

"No he's not," Matthew protested. "You _are_ Mr. Hemming, and you are this other guy, Loki. Because when I take a moment to consider, I still think a lot like Matthew, even though he's 'not really me.' We're both, that's the whole point. _You're_ both. Neither half will die, because they are what makes you… well, you."

"Hemming is weak," Mr. Hemming said distastefully.

"But Loki is murderous," Matthew shot back. "So really, who do you want to be? Who do you want everyone else to see? Is hatred really all you want out of life? Because I know that's not—"

"Silence!" Mr. Hemming roared. Matthew dropped back down to the ground, shaking, and finally his tears could not be restrained.

"You sound like my dad," he whimpered. "Please, Mr. Hemming, _please_ don't turn into my dad."

Silence. Matthew looked up, and saw that Mr. Hemming was gone. There wasn't a trace that he had ever been here. "Mr. Hemming?" Matthew called, and clambered up to his feet again. "Mr. Hemming, come back!"

There was no reply, and Matthew sighed, hanging his head. His scrawny shoulders shook with a sob. "What was I thinking?" he cried hopelessly.

"The right thing," someone replied, and Matthew spun around in alarm. It was Miss Ruby. She took Matthew's hand. "Come on, let's get your head properly fixed up. I can see you got knocked around a bit."

"Oh, this is nothing," Matthew replied hollowly. "Nothing compared to how my insides got knocked around." He allowed Ruby to take him by the hand (he should have been taking Mr. Hemming's hand) and lead him along. "Miss Ruby, what am I going to do?" Matthew wondered in despair. "It's like he's a completely different person! I don't know if my best friend's in there anymore."

"Hey." Ruby stopped walking and wrapped her arms around Matthew in a hug. "Don't give up," she encouraged him. "Listen to me, Matthew, you can do this. You have an advantage that none of the rest of us do."

"What's that?" Matthew asked.

"Tom did something for you that he has done for no one else: he protected you," Ruby answered. "He went into a head-on confrontation, which, for Tom, was completely contrary to his nature. For you, he's defied his own ways to keep you safe."

"Do you think that'll be enough?" Matthew wondered.

"I know we can't give up," Ruby replied. "Not yet." She took his hand again and they kept walking. She moved as though the darkness did not exist.


	19. Chapter 18

_**Author's notes:** so much more Ruby in this chapter than I have previously been writing and it makes me happyyyyyy. There's a lot of talking that goes on in here but eh, you knew it was coming eventually. Hopefully you can remain excited in the prospect of some stuff goin' DOWN in the next chapter. (mwehehehehe you have no idea)  
_

_**Warnings:** brief violence, mentions of child abuse._

* * *

_"Loki has explored the shadowy highways and byways of the universe – and he's met some terrible, terrible people and probably had some awful experiences which he has survived and overcome. So by the time he arrives in The Avengers, he knows the extent of his power – and he's unafraid to use it."_

_-Tom Hiddleston_

I found this quote in _The Art of The Avengers_, and thank you Mr. Hiddleston, this fic is about to get a lot more interesting.

* * *

Volstagg felt a rush of relief upon seeing Thor's familiar red cloak. It was a welcome change from the shadowed flora they had been pushing through in search of their friends. "Here you are!" Volstagg exclaimed, and quickly related Matthew's peril. "We have all the more reason to search these woods, now. If Loki has the boy—"

"Um, are you guys talking about me?"

The Asgardians turned and saw Matthew, accompanied by an unfamiliar woman dressed predominantly in scarlet. They stood closely alongside, and Volstagg's concern flared as he saw the cloth tied in a bandage-like fashion around the boy's head.

"I suppose this means he's not with Loki," Sif said dryly. She cast her glance about, taking in what she could from the darkened forest they stood in. Her lips tightened angrily. "And speaking of Loki, we won't find him this night. It is too dark: we would easily pass him by."

"You've been tracking Mr. Hemming?" Matthew asked, sounding surprised. Thor gave him a puzzled look, confused by the name _Mr. Hemming_ used in the stead of _Loki_. Volstagg stepped in, realizing he was thus far the only one of his comrades to understand the personality-altering effects of the Curse.

"Yes, that is what true," he confirmed. "But I thought you already knew this?"

"Yeah, I just…" Matthew hesitated, frowning. "How do you track someone who can just _disappear?_"

"How can you?" Fandral returned. There was a note of distrust to his voice—already he was learning that this was a place of tricks and shadows. "You didn't get that by tripping over a root, you are far too nimble in your steps. And I can see that you know how to move through here in the dark, as well as the lady accompanying you." He tilted his head respectfully in acknowledgement of the woman with Matthew.

"My name's Ruby," she introduced herself with a returning nod, dark hair shifting with the movement. "And yes, I know a thing or two about getting around at night. "I'm curious, too, how you can track someone who just disappears. Matthew did ask first, so you're up."

"Loki taught us," Hogun replied softly. He was a subtle man by nature, but all could hear the sadness in his words. "It seems a cruel irony that we use his very teachings to pursue him."

"It is cruel," Matthew agreed. His face was hard, the look he directed at the Asgardians disapproving. "Very cruel." This last part he added in a low whisper, perhaps not realizing that the Asgardians could hear it nonetheless. Thor's head turned away in shame. Sif held her frame stiff.

"You forget my own question, young Matthew," Fandral reminded. His tones of suspicion had deepened. "How did _you_ find Loki?" The others turned to quiet Fandral—surely a child couldn't find Loki when they had thus far failed—but Matthew just shrugged in response, seemingly unbothered.

"I didn't find Loki so much as his rock found me," he replied. "When I came to, he was gone." He pointed a hand up to the bandage. Volstagg thought he recognized the scarf Loki had been wearing that afternoon. "Oh, but he did do this. I guess he must've been expecting you instead of me."

Ruby had watched Matthew while he spoke, almost nonchalantly, her face unreadable. She directed a brief frown at Fandral, who didn't appear to notice, and stepped forward. "Look, you guys can't stay out here any longer," she said. "There's a windstorm that's been brewing, you'll want to get back indoors. We have available rooms at the inn, but if you want to check up on Balder first…"

"How is my brother?" Thor asked worriedly. Matthew looked at him curiously, seeming to gauge the Æsir's concern.

"I haven't stopped in to see," Ruby answered. "But Lillian seems to be a woman of many surprising talents." Here she paused, lips twitching in a wry smile. "Balder is in good hands. Come on, I know a shortcut back to town."

She led the way, her left hand firmly clasping Matthew's right. The boy stumbled every once in a while, holding his head. Fandral had been right: Ruby did know how to move in the dark. Eventually they reached the edges of the town, moving down mostly-empty streets. Ruby kept glancing up at the strangely black sky, lips pressed into an anxious frown.

Thor glanced up too, his forehead creasing in concern as a cold wind began to push. "This wind is not natural," he murmured to his fellows. "There is death upon it."

"Tell me about it," Ruby muttered. She seemed tense, her nose occasionally twitching and sending shudders through her body. Matthew was nearly just as agitated. His teeth clenched but still a groan escaped between them, his loose hand cradling the side of his head. "I need to get Matthew home," Ruby said to Thor. "Find David, your buddy with the mustache will know who he is. You're right about this weather being unnatural."

Thor nodded understanding. Ruby and Matthew walked away, Matthew shivering miserably. He'd never built much resistance to the cold, what with being from a jungle and all. His eyes widened in surprise when Ruby picked him up after they left the Asgardians' sight. "Um, Miss Ruby?"

"I hope you don't mind, but we're about to move very fast," Ruby answered vaguely. Matthew gave her a quizzical look, then felt the air pushed out of his lungs as Ruby _rushed_ forward.

* * *

The world rumbled in unrest, and the company of Asgardians staggered as the road beneath their feet shook. The wind gathered strength and whipped against them fiercely while streetlights pulsed until they burst.

"What _is_ that?" Fandral hissed. Down the street a shadow could be seen, glowing eyes beneath a dark cowl. Wailing echoed through everyone's ears.

"A wraith," Sif growled, fingers gripping the hilt of her blade more tightly.

"I taste death upon the air," Hogun said morbidly. "A wraith it is indeed, Sif. Someone has called it up, but who would be mad or villainous enough to do it, I do not know."

A pause as they all thought of Loki. Would he really do something as drastic as this in order to drive them away? Thor was uncertain, but Loki _had_ mustered an army before, and had no qualms assaulting the mortals with it. Fandral turned, intending to speak to Thor, and his eyebrows lifted in recognition. "'Tis Prince David and his family!" he cried.

David, Mary Margaret, and Emma struggled to open the door of Mr. Gold's pawnshop and stepped out. David popped up his coat's collar against the chilled air. Following Fandral, the others crossed the street to join them. Sif's feet were nearly lifted off the pavement. The wraith was gone from sight, but its howling had not diminished.

"Prince David, well met once again!" Fandral hollered courteously. "Do you know what this is about?"

"Gold's behind it," David said grimly. Mary Margaret shivered as the wind cut through the fabric of her coat, and after attaining a permissive nod from David, Fandral wrapped his cloak around her shoulders.

"He wouldn't say why, or what it is," Emma continued. The look she gave the Asgardians bore elements of leeriness. "But it's intended for Regina and it's gotta be nasty."

"Well then, let us deal with him," Thor said readily. Sif nodded agreement—any wicked creature who summoned up a wraith had earned death.

"I don't think that'll work out for you too well, and more's the pity," David replied. His wife gave him a sharp look and he sent an wondering one in reply. "Mr. Gold is Rumplestiltskin."

"Oh," said Thor. Sif growled. Of _course_ it was Rumplestiltskin who had summoned a wraith.

"That does make dealing with him somewhat more difficult," Volstagg remarked, sounding as though he were making light of the circumstance when in fact the opposite was true. "We shall have to focus on dealing with the product of his actions, then."

"Volstagg, do we even possess the skill to slay something already dead?" Fandral questioned. His expression was doubtful, and for a change lacking his usual enthusiasm for new and bizarre adventures.

"Well, there really is only one way to find out," Volstagg replied, and tried not to chuckle at the shocked look Fandral gave him. He turned to David. "Have you any torches?" he inquired.

* * *

The darkness was nearly total by the time Loki returned to the place where he had been shot. There was a small spray of dried blood on the pavement, but that wasn't what he had come here looking for. He closed his eyes, remembering his location earlier that day. He had been standing here, at such an angle, with Matthew forming an effective hostage, and Balder… His legs slid forward, eyes still closed, until finally he stopped. Here. Balder had stood here.

And fallen. Loki's fingers hovered over the concrete, until he brushed up tiny, loose bits of stone. He held the sharp-edged crumbs in his hand, feeling the magic faintly pulsing within them, magic that he couldn't reach back to. The curse died, and the crumbled pieces of stone turned into three droplets of blood in Loki's palm.

Stone curse. Loki had hoped Matthew wasn't speaking of the one he had in mind, unleashed by the monster of ash and shadow, a shriek wielding eternal entrapment. But now he knew it was one and the same, and mortals and Æsir could do nothing against it.

But Loki wasn't Æsir. He straightened, knowing that he needn't track any longer. Matthew had been here also, and Lillian. Somehow, Loki was certain that it was Lillian's home where Balder would be found. Lillian had given Tom Hemming directions to the new house, in preparation for his aid in moving. That would have been tomorrow, Loki realized.

He turned his steps to Lillian's house, running with barely a sound. It was late at night and he didn't want to be seen. Though whether he would be heard probably wouldn't a concern anymore, not if this wind continued to pick up.

Then it was Loki who was picked up, lifted by something unseen and flung down the road. Loki's palms tore open against the pavement before he pulled himself into a roll, whipping his head to the direction the thrust had come from. A snarl bared his teeth.

"You've remembered me, it seems."

The wraith gave no answer, its eyes bright with hate. It lifted its arm, claws curled toward the downcast Jotun, and Loki could feel in reaching in, in search of a feast. Also, he could feel anything it seized fall out of its grasp.

The wraith was puzzled, and angry. Loki laughed.

"I see you hoped for vengeance, soul feaster," he sneered. "But I have yet another surprise for you: my soul is too fragmented now for you to eat. There's nothing _left_ for you to devour. Just enough to keep me alive, and isn't that greatest joke of them all."

He jumped to his feet and sprang toward the wraith, who shrank back. It remembered how their last encounter had gone. "Leave. Me. Alone," Loki snarled. He watched as it fled, and felt no pride in his triumph. This was just another fight for survival, there was no pride in that.

Loki grimaced as he looked down at his bloody palms, but he knew it wouldn't take long for them to heal. Even with the aid of magic denied to him, new skin would grow over by morning. Still, it hurt in an irritating way.

He reached Lillian's house, approaching the building warily. Only a few lights were on: Loki could see silhouettes moving through what was presumably the kitchen, two women and a child. He frowned up at the upper window, soft light pressing around the edges of a shutter. That had to be where he needed to go.

He slipped inside through the back, not surprised that the house's only defense was a locked door. Charlene had struck him as that sort of person. Loki dodged the vision of the people in the kitchen and snuck upstairs. A door was cracked open and Loki opened it without generating a sound, peeking in.

It was Balder. Loki felt a peculiar happiness in seeing his little brother again (_no, never my brother_), even though a number of hours ago this same man had shot Loki through the shoulder with an arrow. He was asleep, lying on his back in a bed, his breathing unsteady.

Charlene was with him, asleep also, lying on her side with her head resting against Balder's bare chest. Her belly was round with the child she carried, and her fingers and Balder's were locked together as they slumbered. A gold band glinted on Balder's finger, and its twin was with Charlene, accompanied by another ring bearing three rubies.

Balder was married. He had a child coming, or possibly more than one. Loki felt his throat tighten, a precursor to tears. So much happiness Balder had gained, but so soon Loki could see the threat that was coming to take it away. Most of Balder's chest had turned completely to stone. His right leg was solid gray. Three fingers on his left hand were stiff, and didn't shift as the rest of them did.

Loki should have been able to hate him. He certainly had a right to. Balder had wronged him, just as everyone else had, and yet… it was Balder. The little prince who had run away from home and never came back, taking mortals and their desperate little quests for love over immortals and the unending glory of Asgard. Loki had never said so, rarely allowed himself to think it in fact, but he had always wished that he could have been as brave as Balder, and run away to create a place for himself, instead of vainly hoping that Odin would give him the love that he craved.

Loki recognized the work of Stonebreath, whose scream transformed whichever victim had fallen into its path. He had fought against it in the Void, fought against many things, and he had barely survived. Loki shook his head, lips curling in a silent snarl. He didn't want to think about the Void, didn't want to remember the things he had suffered there. But now, perhaps, he had to.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

Loki spun in panic and then forced himself to relax when he saw Ruby. He kept the hilt of Balder's knife in his hand, not allowing his wince to reach his face as the cool metal rubbed against his raw palms. He carefully lowered it to his side, his heart pounding in his ears. Ruby stood in the open door, leveling him with a hard look that was completely absent of fear. Loki hadn't seen one of those in a while.

"Ruby," Loki whispered. He tucked the knife away, watching her cautiously, and unconsciously echoed himself: "There's not too many people who can sneak up on me."

"Get used to it," Ruby advised flatly. "I was getting Matthew back here, rather than leaving him alone in the woods _in the middle of the night._" She shot him a pointed glare. This was very different from the Ruby that Tom Hemming had interacted with in the past. "He's downstairs getting patched up by Lillian, by the way. You're welcome to go down and apologize to him."

When Loki didn't move, she rolled her eyes, lips curling in an expression of disgust. She glanced back over at Balder. "So, is it bad?" she asked, deciding to return to her original question.

Loki ushered her out of the room and closed the door behind them. It took a few seconds for their sight to adjust to the lack of light. "Worse than I had expected," he replied mildly.

"Are you going to help him?" Ruby asked. Her gaze was still harsh, and Loki was greatly thrown off by it.

"Should I?" he challenged. "In case you have forgotten, he _shot_ me this afternoon."

"He shot you because he lost control over his fingers," Ruby fired back. "It was an accident. Balder wanted Matthew safe, but he didn't want to hurt you."

"Pretty accurate accident," Loki muttered, rolling his shoulder. Fate seemed to deal Balder equal amounts of cruel and helpful hands.

"You had that arrow coming," Ruby snapped. Her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed into an angry glare. "Hurting _Matthew?_ God, I know all of us are having trouble with this change, but what _moron_ turns around and tries to murder their closest friend?"

"Apparently me," Loki quipped. Ruby slapped him across the face and he blinked at her in shock. Not even Odin had slapped Loki in the past.

"Ruby, is there someone up there?" Lillian called from below. Loki stiffened, waiting for Ruby to expose him.

"No, I'm on the phone," Ruby called back, never shifting her unforgiving stare from Loki's face. He looked back at her quizzically, wondering why she wasn't saying that he was there. "Letting Granny know what's up, you know?"

"Alright. Thought I heard something snapping."

"Just my patience," Ruby muttered. Lillian didn't call again, nor did she come up the stairs, and Ruby's glare upon Loki intensified. "Don't you dare joke about this, Tom," she said dangerously. "Matthew is a fragile, fragile boy who has been hurt in ways that no one should ever have to suffer. He still clings to his faith in you, but you nearly broke him today. You nearly became the monster you rescued him from."

Matthew, cringing away in fear. _"Please don't become my dad."_

"I am not Mr. Frog," Loki said quietly, taking care to make his voice even.

"You treated Matthew just the same," Ruby spat. "I certainly don't spy any differences, expect that maybe you're worse." The look that Loki turned on her was poisonous, so different from the Tom Hemming who had requested her aid that morning. Ruby shook her head, disappointed. "What happened to you, Tom? You're behaving like some heartless monster, and I am sick of it and I want to know _why_."

Not a _monster_, Loki thought angrily. Not a _Frost Giant._ "You're wrong," he said, aggravated by her ignorance.

"I'm right," Ruby stated. Her fingers curled, aggressive. "Deal with it."

One of the steps creaked. Ruby's head turned sharply, and in the moment she looked away Loki was gone, crossing the hallway into a different room and vaulting out the window he opened. Lillian came up, accompanied by a sleepy Matthew, and looked at Ruby curiously.

"Done with your phone call?" she asked.

Ruby nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I thought, uh, you might want some fresh air." She tousled Matthew's hair, on the side opposite to where he'd been struck. "I'll see you tomorrow, Matthew."

"Thanks for the help, Miss Ruby," Matthew mumbled. He sank down into the bed, eyelids heavy. Lillian made sure he was comfortable and then left with Ruby, seeing her out to the door.

"Tom was here, wasn't he?" she said to Ruby.

Ruby sighed. "I messed it up," she answered bluntly. "But it won't be hard to find him again."

Lillian nodded and placed a comforting hand on Ruby's shoulder. "Good luck, Ruby," she said. "And don't fear being frank. Real friends are the ones who call you out on your crap, and are willing to intrude."

Ruby thanked her quietly and left, her distinctive red and black garb retreating from the light.

* * *

"Slaying a wraith is always a long ordeal," Sif informed David and the others. She checked the sharpness of her sword and nodded in satisfaction. "Where is a place we can battle it, separate from the other folk?"

"The town hall," David replied instantly. "Nobody's there right now, and no one lives nearby."

"I'm willing to wager the town hall is not where this creature is headed," Fandral remarked, watching the wraith's progress with some apprehension. It had disappeared from sight for some minutes, but now it was back in view and if possible seemed even _more_ malevolent than it had before.

"The jail," said Emma, her eyes widening as she figured it out. "Mr. Gold said the wraith was for Regina."

"You said torches, right?" Mary Margaret asked Volstagg. The Asgardian nodded. "Great, that gives me an idea."

"It would be wise to split up again," Sif suggested. "Part of us waiting at the town hall, and the other half to herd the wraith toward us."

"I'll take you to the hall," David volunteered. It was decided that the Warriors Three would accompany him.

The groups took off at a swift (if somewhat sideways) run, the wind trying to push them off-balance. The broader Asgardians provided decent windbreakers. Fandral glanced over at Volstagg. "You know," he said, a hint of nervousness to his voice, "I've never fought a wraith before."

"Don't worry about it overmuch, Fandral," Volstagg advised. "The first time is usually the worst."

"Oh, usually?" Fandral turned his focus ahead and dodged a flying book. "That's reassuring," he muttered sarcastically.

* * *

Regina looked around the Sheriff's station fearfully, clutching her marked hand. The lights flickered, and the halls were empty. "Hello?" she called hesitantly. "Who's there?"

The wraith appeared, ripping off the door to Regina's cell with barely any effort. With a gesture of its claw, Regina could feel its freezing nature reaching in and grabbing, pulling, sucking her soul out to devour.

"Hey!" she heard someone shout, and Regina fell back when Emma threw a chair at the wraith. It turned on her in fury, throwing her across the room. Sif and Thor ran in to help but had to pause and break the desk the wraith flung at them. As it was distracted, Mary Margaret slipped around behind the wraith, holding a lighter and canister.

"Over here!" she called, and the irate wraith turned its semblance of a face into a stream of flame. Howling, the creature retreated and flew out the window. Regina made choking noises as she sank to the floor and Emma ran over to see if she was alright.

Mary Margaret shrugged, lighter and canister in opposite hands. "Torch," she said simply.

Sif gave the woman an appreciative and curious look. "I would greatly appreciate it if you taught me this trick," she said.

"Sure, it's simple," Mary Margaret said. "You just—"

"She didn't kill it," Regina interrupted, and was puzzled by the lack of surprise that showed on their faces. Apparently they already knew the wraith was horrid undead. "The soul sucker will be back. It doesn't stop until it devours its prey." She lifted her hand, showing the ugly mark burned into her skin. "Me," she growled. "If I survive this, I'm going to kill Gold."

"Oh, you'll survive," Emma assured her. She scowled. "But as for Gold, get in line."

"We need to lure the wraith into the town hall, wherein my friends and I shall be able to slay it," Sif explained. "We have received instruction in the ways to bring about the destruction of the undead." She leveled a look upon Regina. "Clearly, witch, you are the bait."

"Oh joy," Regina said dryly.

* * *

Loki paced in the dark. He wanted to light a fire—not so much for the warmth as for the light, and frankly, his strong resistance to the cold made him even more uncomfortable in his own skin. Ruby's accusing, challenging stare refused to move away from his mind's eye.

What right did _she_ have to call him a monster?! She had no concept, no idea what a monster was, frail, little, insignificant mortal that she was. She knew nothing. Nothing at all.

But hadn't… hadn't what he had done, what he had tried to do to Matthew… hadn't that been the act of a monster? It hadn't been for anyone else's aid, only his own. Monsters only thought of themselves, and the pain they could inflict on those more vulnerable.

He heard needles shift on the ground. There was no wind. Loki spun rapidly, eyes seeking a target as the handle of Balder's knife slipped into his ready fingers. It still hurt; it would be several hours yet before his skin completely mended itself. "Do you always expect visitors to kill you?" Ruby asked as she emerged from the darkness. Loki did not relax his hold.

"It's been a long while since I haven't," he admitted. He regarded Ruby warily. "Why have you followed me?"

"Well, I suppose as far as efforts to convince you into joining the light side, we have cookies, and such, I pretty much ruined it," Ruby said simply. "What I said was harsh, but don't expect me to take it back. You _pissed me off_, Tom, and I am still angry with you."

"So, you tracked me all this way to continue ranting at me?" Loki inquired, cocking an eyebrow. Ruby looked to the dark heavens for patience, tossing her head in irritation.

"Among other things," she replied. She swung a satchel off her shoulder and set it on the ground. Loki recognized it as his own—or rather, Tom Hemming's. "I found this on the road leading to the border," Ruby explained. "Figured it was yours."

"How so?" Loki asked, finding himself curious. It was bizarre that this mortal woman could find him when Sif and Hogun could not, and Loki himself had trained them to follow worldwalkers. Though, of course, just barely.

Ruby shrugged. "I recognize your clothes," she answered simply. She was lying. Loki's eyebrows lifted, keeping his mood of intrigue from his features. "By the way, you're safe for tonight. Thor and his friends went back into town, they're not going to resume searching until after dawn."

This meant that Loki could get his fire. Fortunately it hadn't rained in a number of weeks (a very, very strange thing in Maine), and the wood was relatively dry. Ruby had the good sense to bring a tinderbox, and together they coaxed a flame into existence.

Ruby set a round basket beside Loki's satchel. She noticed his cursory glance. "I thought you might like something to eat," she explained. "It's a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches and a can of tomato soup—can opener included. I was in a hurry, so nothing fancy. They're all cold now, unfortunately."

"Cold doesn't bother me," Loki replied. "Unfortunately." He lifted the red and white checked cloth off the top of the basket and folded it neatly. He hadn't eaten for most of the day, so there wasn't a remote possibility that he was going to complain about what he was offered. Unless it was spinach. Loki loathed spinach. Or was that Tom?

Ruby sat on the other side of the slowly growing fire, stretching her hands out to the warmth. Even without magic, Loki still had a knack for flame. He opened his satchel and pulled out a clean shirt, long-sleeved and dark green. With no small amount of pleasure he disposed of the bloody and torn cardigan he had been wearing throughout the day, and with the assistance of a water bottle wiped off the dried blood crusting around his shoulder. Internally it still throbbed, but the skin was intact. Loki slipped on the tee, glancing briefly over at Ruby. She had said nothing so far, watching the fire thoughtfully, and Loki in turn had no interest in conversation.

He pulled a grey jacket over his shoulders and set the untidy lump of clothes off to the side, intending to burn them after Ruby had gone. He couldn't leave traces. He paused as he heard Ruby sigh, and looked over.

"Who are you?" she asked. She seemed to be sad.

"Who are you?" Loki returned. He wasn't in the mood to cooperate, especially not after the way she had spoken to him at Lillian's house.

"That's a long and frankly horrible story," Ruby answered, staring into the fire. She didn't seem to notice that her digging nails were cutting into her own palms. "But I asked first."

"I suppose my own story is not much different—long and frankly horrible. I'm… complicated," Loki said carefully. He picked up the tomato soup and the can opener, sitting at the fire opposite to Ruby. "Many things."

"Just spit it out, Tom," Ruby said curtly.

Loki hesitated. He focused on the fire, keeping it alive but small enough so that he and Ruby could still see each other's faces. "All our lives, Odin told Thor and I that we were both born to be kings," he said abruptly. His tone was mournful despite his best efforts: it still hurt to say _Odin_ rather than _Father._ His face twisted into a self-hating sneer. "He never told me that I was born to be king of monsters. That's always been the lots of Thor and I. He is given Valhalla on a golden platter. I have to struggle through the muck of Helheim, and am scoffed for my efforts." He swore angrily. "I should have seen it sooner!"

"You were deceived," Ruby said softly. "I understand." Loki had the strangest feeling that she really _did._ But that couldn't be true.

"I only ever wanted to prove myself," Loki said in a low voice. "Not to have power, but to be equal. To be worthy." He laughed, resigned and bitter. "But in _wicked, shining Asgard_, I never stood a chance, did I?"

"Sounds like you have one heck of a bad past," Ruby noted. It wasn't pity in her voice, it was sympathy. She knew his turmoil, Loki couldn't comprehend how. Ruby's lips twitched a smile. "But then there's Tom Hemming."

"He is afraid, afraid of everyone," Loki said, bewilderment tingeing his words. _Even more than I am._ "And he never had the lie that he was loved and part of a family to begin with. His father was a wealthy drunkard who beat him. He had no brothers. He was isolated, locked away, and it wasn't until he was eighteen that he could escape and come here. His life is full of just as much pain as mine, and he deserves it even less."

"But he has Matthew," Ruby reminded him.

Loki smiled, something tender in his gaze. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes, he has Matthew. And I nearly killed him today."

"Twice," Ruby added helpfully. Loki winced. "I'm still mad about that, by the way."

"I shouldn't care about him." Loki looked down, and remembered the soup and can opener in his hands and went back to attempting to open it.

"That's a stupid thing to say," Ruby stated. "Tom, I'm going to be blunt here. This old you, Loki, sounds like he's had a miserable life, and chose to become quite the douche. And sure, he had his reasons and hurts and I know what's that like, but he chose to respond to them in completely the wrong way. You didn't have many real friends, am I right?"

Loki's head hung in shame. He set the unconquered can to the side. "Even less than I do here," he admitted.

"But you have _real friends_ here," Ruby said pointedly. "Why do you think I came out here? Matthew would chop off his arms and go through Hell for you. And though Matthew's definitely the most steadfast— " she chuckled "—and intrusive of your friends, he's not the only one. Just about every kid at the elementary school has a reason to love you, and those reasons go from here to the moon. Lillian turns into a figurative mama bear if anyone has something against you."

Loki blinked. "They do? She does?"

Ruby nodded. "Absolutely." Apparently she had noticed Loki's struggle with the soup can earlier after all, and she now took the can from him and proceeded to open it. "People _love_ you, Tom," she continued. "So suck it up and get used to it."

Loki was silent, staring down at the fire. "They would never… not if they knew my deeds."

"Shut up," Ruby commanded. "Stop doing that to yourself, Tom, it's doesn't make you any better. I know from experience." She handed Loki back the open can of tomato soup and continued. "Listen Tom, Loki, whatever you want your name to be: you have something great in you. Something that has never existed before and will never exist again. You are irreplaceable. Don't let your past or anything that happens to you take away who you really are."

Her gaze never strayed from Loki's eyes, blue burning into blue. "I mean what I'm saying here, Tom. Redemption is not too far for you—yes, even after what you have done. I've seen the pictures, heard the stories. There is hope for you yet, Tom. There is always hope."

Loki continued to stare down, despair weighing upon his shoulders. The can of soup sat next to him, untouched, and he gripped Balder's knife in his hands. "Is there?" he murmured doubtfully.

"Yes," Ruby replied instantly. She stood up and went over to him, placing a gentle hand on Loki's shoulder and feeling him stiffen under the contact. "You know what you have to do," she said. "Help your brother. Beg Matthew's forgiveness. _Do the right thing._ You're not a monster, Tom, so quit trying to prove it to yourself."

"I'm—I'm not—" Loki stammered.

Ruby lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't you?" she challenged.

Loki's breath hitched, freezing partway up his throat and refusing to move any further. _Aren't you?_ Ruby's gaze was relentless, horribly kind. She didn't say anything more, she didn't have to. _Aren't you?_ What a cruel, cruel question. A mortal woman had placed her finger on the very crux of the matter.

And… she was right. But no, Loki couldn't be trying to prove to himself that he was a monster, that wasn't even possible. He hated the Jotnar! Hated them so much that he had tried to kill them all, and if it hadn't been for Thor's bizarre change of heart, he would have succeeded. He would have done it, for everyone.

Why couldn't people understand he was trying to _help?_ Thor was shaping up to be an arrogant and terrible ruler, the Jotnar were a constant threat, the humans were slaughtering each other. He was trying to help. He wasn't a monster, he wasn't trying to prove that he was a monster.

Except that he was. He remembered the grief of Jane Foster as Thor was struck down, the horror of Odin as Loki hung over the abyss, the frantic struggle of Clint Barton's spirit as he was bound, the plunge of the spear through Phil Coulson as Thor screamed…

He _was_ a monster. He proved it every day.

Ruby's hand pushed up against Loki's chin, forcing him to look up at her. "You really do believe that you're a monster," she realized, and to Loki's confusion, she shook her head, disappointment dominating her features once again. "Tom, you're going at all of this backwards."

"What do you know, Ruby?" Loki snapped. "You've never even heard of the Frost Giants. You never had them haunting your dreams, for the centuries it took you to come of age. You never had to live in the fear that _what if_ one of them got away, and found _you._ You have no idea—"

"Everyone has to deal with their monsters," Ruby said curtly, and Loki looked at her wonderingly. "Tom, you can't get rid of it. You can fight it, ignore it, alienate it, but no matter what you do it is always going to come back because it. Is. You. Get used to the fact. And another thing: you are not a monster. That part of you is not a monster."

"You don't know anything about monsters," Loki sneered, rising up and towering over the woman.

"I'm a _werewolf!_" Ruby snapped, and Loki's eyes flared in shock. "For years, whenever the full moon came, I would transform and slaughter anyone I could find. I didn't even know until it was much too late. So don't you dare suggest that I'm naïve."

Loki was effectively silenced. Ruby glared. "Are you going to let me finish?" she asked. He angled his chin slightly in acquiesce. "Good. I'm speaking out of experience, Tom, not out the desire to make you feel better. I know exactly where you are at right now, and I can tell you that it is utter crap. You've already experienced this, and more than once. Everyone suffers when we allow ourselves to become monsters, Loki. The people we hate _and_ the people we love."

Loki remained silent, knife twirling slowly in his hands. His soup and sandwiches had been forgotten. "Why are you doing this?" he asked softly.

"Because you're my friend, too," Ruby answered. "And when a real friend sees you tearing yourself apart, they _say so._ And I am telling you right now, Tom, you need to stop. You're just hurting yourself and it's killing me to see it. I can only imagine how bad it is for Matthew."

Loki winced at Ruby's mention of the boy, but still he didn't respond. He had nothing to respond with. Ruby stepped away, leaving her basket and tinderbox with Loki. "I have to go," she told Loki. She paused at the edge of the firelight, gazing back at the unspeaking prince. They locked gazes and Ruby repeated her words from a few minutes earlier: "You know what to do."

With that, Ruby left, disappearing back into the shadows. Loki stared into the fire while wandering in his thoughts, jerking when he accidentally cut a finger on Balder's knife.


	20. Chapter 19

_**Author's notes:** Do you hear that? It's the sound of the canon train, leaving the station._

_Wait. Did I... did I just write an _entire_ chapter without Loki?! But how? Who could possibly take up all that space—FANDRAL._

_Or, in which I started a chapter thinking that I have barely given Fandral enough attention, and then Fandral proceeded to tear out my heartstrings one by one and take over almost the entire chapter. His partners in crime? Balder and Matthew, who frikkin' else?_

**_Warnings: _**_violence and gore, nightmares. MORE FEELS THAN IS ALLOWED._

* * *

David really missed his sword. Of all things, what had possessed his daughter to throw it _into_ a dragon? She couldn't have just run Maleficent through like a rational dragon-slayer? Oh well, nothing to do about it now. He frowned in dissatisfaction at the broom standing upside-down in his hand.

The Warriors Three had taken up guard positions at the open double doors into the main chamber of Storybrooke's town hall. Such an odd trio they made, David thought. There was Hogun, dark and silent and grim; Volstagg, vast and cheerful and open; and Fandral, dashing and young and daring. Each of them was quite different from the others, and yet David could see the bond between them had been forged long and strong.

"Oh, Prince David," said Fandral, turning to David and lifting a pair of golden eyebrows. "It would only be fair to warn you that your town hall will likely be demolished by the end of this." The tips of his mustache seemed to curl upwards with his smile.

David felt faint. "Yeah, that's a nice thing to know," he managed to reply. "Is, um, is property damage a thing that happens often with you guys?" He had a feeling it was.

The grin on Fandral's face had David somewhat worried. "You should have seen the Vanaheim Twenty Tavern Brawl!" the Asgardian hooted.

"Of which I still remember less than half," Volstagg remarked lightly, chuckling. "I just hope that Thor is not forced to use Mjolnir. Midgardian constructions are not as sturdy as those on Asgard and Vanaheim, and even then…"

"Let me guess," said David, "Mjolnir is that hammer Thor carries."

"Yes indeed!" Fandral answered jovially. He gave David an inquiring look. "Say, Prince David, have you ever given thought to growing out a mustache?

David blinked, wondering what had brought the question into Fandral's head. "Can't say that I have," he replied honestly. "Why do you ask?"

"I think you'd look rather dashing in one," Fandral told him, giving a generous nod. Volstagg exchanged amused glances with Hogun; apparently Fandral's free advice on the improvements of appearance was not an unusual thing. "Almost as dashing as me, even."

The smile dropped from Fandral's face and he turned in unison with the other two, attention focused on something beyond David's line of sight. He brandished the broom, feeling somewhat silly. The Warriors Three relaxed, smiling to different degrees. "Thor, I see you've rescued Regina," Volstagg said. David knew his bewilderment showed on his face. What was Regina doing here?

Regina entered the main hall, flanked by Emma and Mary Margaret, and worked to keep her distance from Fandral. The Æsir fixed her with a cold stare. Volstagg noticed it and looked at his comrade quizzically. "What did you do?" he asked.

"I suppose you could say I instilled the fear of Odin in her," Fandral answered mildly. He didn't notice the other Asgardians' impressed—and surprised—expressions.

David handed a broom to Mary Margaret, pointing an icy glare at Regina as he did so. She stared challengingly back, but shied away as she realized that Fandral had stepped up behind her. David suspected the blond warrior was enjoying this. The Asgardian looked over at his fellows. "So," he said to Sif, "how long until we ought to be expecting the wraith to join us?"

"Any moment," Sif replied. "Now that its prey has stopped moving, it has a clearer target to hunt." Regina shifted nervously, and David felt no pity for her. "Thor, you won't be able to wield Mjolnir. Its effect will be widespread, but against a creature of flight such as the wraith, it will not be of any use. The wraith moves too quickly for Mjolnir to strike it down."

Thor nodded understanding, but he was displeased. Nothing was more frustrating than being forced to sit out the most vital parts of the battle. "Where does that place me?" he asked.

"Toward the back," Hogun replied. "Mjolnir shall be our final resort. You will form the last line of defense between the wraith and Regina." Thor nodded again, but this time his frown was more pronounced. Regina didn't appear to have much faith in the would-be wraith slayers. David figured she thought that their armor was only a set of elaborate costumes.

He really hoped that she wasn't right.

"Fandral and Volstagg form our first line," Sif began, pausing as she thought. "You will part and allow the wraith to pass, after which Hogun and I will move in and entrap it between the four of us. Prince David, Mary Margaret, and Sheriff Swan form the third line of defense." She turned a grave look upon them. "Your goal is _not_ to attempt to kill the wraith, it is to send it back to the Warriors Three and I. Wraiths can consume the souls of Æsir with little difficulty; mortals cannot stand even a shadow of a chance against one."

Mortal. David was intrigued by the woman's use of the word. These people were even more other-worldly than he had originally thought. The group looked up as the lights flickered and the wraith's horrible wailing first reached their ears. Regina turned pale, backing away to the furthest corner of the room. Thor stayed with her, forming a wall of flesh and bone.

"Positions!" Sif barked. Each of them fell to their assigned place—whether or not Sif had betrayed their trust, they all knew she understood strategy. Fandral and Volstagg assumed their places on either side of the double doors, sword drawn and ax ready. Hogun and Sif leaned up against opposing walls, watching each other. They knew they would move in perfect synchronization. Emma, David, and Mary Margaret formed a line in front of a lonely white fence, behind which was Thor and the source of all this trouble: Regina.

"This had better work…" the witch muttered. Her eyes were round with fear.

David began lighting the brooms. Mary Margaret had Thor pass her a bottle of alcohol and she poured it along the length of the fence. "Just in case," she told David. He nodded in approval of his wife's quick thinking.

The wraith shot into the main hall almost faster than it could be seen. Sif and Hogun rolled together and sprang forward, sword and mace acting as a unified weapon. Fandral and Volstagg came up behind the monster and attacked, a second sword accompanied by a broad battle ax.

The wraith shrieked, furious and hurt, but it was still quick, managing to avoid each attempted strike. Thor's teeth gritted. He couldn't stand to watch his friends fight without him, but Mjolnir would tear this entire town apart.

The wraith flung Fandral aside, cracking his head against the marble wall, and the Asgardian slumped to the floor in a heap. Volstagg crawled over to him, worriedly calling out _Fandral, are you alright?_ Hogun was struggling back up to his feet from where he had been cast off. The wraith slipped away from Sif, rushing toward Regina with alacrity. It was met with two flaming brooms, and the sharp crack of discharged bullets echoed through the hall. The wraith was pushed back to the Asgardians.

Volstagg was angry. It was frightening to behold, for even up to now the warrior had been nothing but cheerful and kind. He reminded David a great deal of Santa Claus. But now, he was angry. Fandral was badly hurt, lying still on the floor, and nothing was so fierce in Volstagg as his drive to protect those he loved. His knuckles were white as he gripped the handle of his double-bit ax.

Hogun and Sif charged again, but Hogun now had a limp. The violent forced of the wraith had struck Hogun's knee with his own mace. The wraith tossed him aside, in a manner similar to a child throwing away a rag doll, and Hogun was reduced to a groaning mess, unable to rise again. Mary Margaret and Emma helped pull him away from the battle.

Thor could not stand it any longer. He vaulted over the fence and rushed to Hogun, who was still struggling to get back onto his feet, and took up his friend's mace. Now it was three Asgardians against one wraith. Thor would have thought a moment ago that the odds were certainly in their favor, but this wraith had already displayed its ferocity. It seemed enraged, and as Thor came into view it grew even more so.

Regina grabbed David's broom and used it to ignite the alcohol soaked into the fence, backing away to the far wall and hoping that this wasn't going to be her end. The broom trembled in her hands, fire heating her face.

Volstagg charged the wraith, whose attention was fixed on Thor, and swung his ax in a killing blow. The wraith realized his presence just a moment before the ax made contact and shot up, and Volstagg's ax struck Sif instead, crushing her armor and flinging her against the opposite wall. Sif crumbled, blood gushing out from beneath her splintered armor. Volstagg stopped in horror at what he had done, and the wraith took advantage, throwing him all the way out of the door leading into the main hall.

Emma had her gun drawn, trying to track the wraith's movements. "It's too fast," she growled in frustration. The flaming fence warmed her back to uncomfortable degrees. Mary Margaret had to keep forcing Hogun to stay down while David stood over both of them with only Mary Margaret's burning broom as a defense.

The wraith swept down on Thor now. The warrior was at a disadvantage—while the mace was a great weapon, it was not one that he was familiar with. The wraith tossed him from wall to wall, crushing the material until one could see the darkened outdoors. Then Thor was slammed into the ground, limbs entrapped by marble, and the wraith came down.

Its claw reached for his face, gleaming yellow eyes fierce with hate. A remote part of Thor was curious: while violent, the wraith hadn't expressed the hatred for his fellow Asgardians as it did for him now. The tips of the wraith's claws grazed Thor's forehead, and he shuddered at the cold. A mangled voice barely came to his mind: _Loki's brother. Loki's brother._

Thor's eyes snapped wide. "You know Loki!" he roared, and surged upward, clenching the wraith's arm in his fist despite the utter folly of such an action. "_What have you done to my brother?!_" he demanded. The rags around the wraith's arm tore and Thor had to tear himself away from the wraith as its unnatural state bit into his hand.

While this had happened, Sif struggled to her feet. She still held her stomach with her left hand, lifeblood dripping between her fingers. Her sword fell from her right hand and clattered to the floor. She looked to Mary Margaret. "The canister!" she called, just as Thor came roaring up out of the floor like an infuriated bilgesnipe bull. "Do you still have it?"

Mary Margaret's eyes widened as she understood what Sif was saying. She moved away from Hogun and picked up the canister from where she had set it and tossed it to Sif, closely followed by the lighter. The canister slipped through Sif's scarlet fingers but she caught the lighter.

Thor stumbled back from the wraith, clutching his hand as a pained snarl issued from behind clenched teeth. David handed Mary Margaret's broom back to her and slunk around the edge of the room, trusting Emma and Mary Margaret to keep the wraith at bay. He reached Fandral and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the other man's sword, appreciating the feel of this familiar weapon in his hand. He exchanged looks with Sif, who now had both the canister and lighter, and they nodded, understanding each other's intentions.

"Thor, get back!" David hollered. Thor responded in the manner of a proper warrior: he didn't ask questions and immediately acted. Sif staggered forward as quickly as she could and released a sharp whistle to get the wraith's attention. It turned on her and for the second time received a spray of flame directly to its face. It howled, furious to have been tricked in the same manner twice, and turned to flee. This battle was no longer worth the price to the wraith.

But David was ready for it, and once the wraith spun again he drove Fandral's sword deep into the shadowed cowl. For a moment, he could almost swear he saw a human face, an exhausted voice say _thank you_, but he would never be certain. The wraith's shrieking ceased, and it collapsed to the floor in a shower of dust and tattered robes.

Sif looked at David and Mary Margaret. "Thor is right in having so much respect for mortals," she said, and David had the feeling that her admiration was something hard-won.

"What happened here?"

It was Ruby standing in the door, and Henry next to her. The woman's eyes were just as wide as the boy's. Regina dropped her broom and all the fires extinguished together. For once, magic was cooperating with the witch. "Henry, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice soft.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Henry demanded. He stared in horror at the people cast about, each of them wounded. Even the humans bore scrapes from the flying pieces of marble, as well as scorch marks due to Regina. He looked sick as he took in all the destruction and blood.

Regina pushed down the charcoal fence with a heeled shoe and made her way across the wrecked floor to Henry. "It's okay, you're safe now," she said reassuringly. Henry flinched away from her. He thought that _she_ had done this. And so did Ruby, judging from the way the she-wolf stepped protectively in front of Henry. As if her little boy needed protecting from _her._

"Everyone's safe," David confirmed. He grimaced. "Though all a little beat up." He poked the remnants of the wraith, wondering about what he almost thought he saw. It did feel good to be holding a sword again, though. Twenty-eight years was a long time. "The wraith is dead for good, it can't hurt anyone now."

Regina looked down at her hand, uncertain, and was amazed to see that the mark Rumplestiltskin had seared into her palm was gone. She released a shaky and relieved sigh.

"Thor, you need to call the horses and retrieve the healing stones," Volstagg said tensely. He limped his way back in and was beside Fandral again, his hand checking the other Asgardian's pulse. "We're losing Fandral."

"And Sif," Hogun added. Thor caught the woman and nearly fell with her as his bitten arm's cry of protest echoed through his whole body. David ran over and gently lowered her to the ground. Thor called Mjolnir to his other hand and jumped out of one of the walls the wraith had used him to bash through. Mjolnir spun, and it was a moment before he took to the skies.

Volstagg cradled Fandral's broken body in his arms, tears soaking into his beard. The golden hair of the youngest Æsir was staining red with his own blood, and he was barely breathing. "Stay with us, Fandral," Volstagg pleaded. "Stay with us, please."

* * *

Matthew fled from his nightmares, jolting awake in a bed that was not his own. He sat up sharply, eyes darting over the unfamiliar walls before remembering that he was in Ms. Williams' new house. Well, not Ms. Williams' house, it really belonged to someone else, but Ms. Williams was living here now, too. How had Matthew gotten here? Oh, that was right: Miss Ruby. She'd brought him here to stay for the night, after Mr. Hemming had vanished.

Again. Matthew pulled the blankets up around his legs and shivered, tucking his chin into the narrow gap between his knees. He was exhausted, but he didn't want to go back to sleep. Not after that nightmare. Matthew couldn't remember most of it, but at some point Mr. Hemming had turned in Shere Kahn, bursting into orange flame and chasing Matthew as he fled.

No, Matthew definitely didn't want to go back to sleep. He slid out of the bed, wrapping a small blanket around his shoulders, and crept out his room. He didn't want to wake anyone up. Maybe Ms. Williams had some books downstairs—but of course she would, she was a librarian. Matthew shivered a little—why was it so cold?—and quietly started to move down the hall, his bare feet brushing through the carpet.

Matthew's head turned at the sound of a gasp; short and restrained, but Matthew had heard the sound of pain often enough to recognize it. He backtracked, looking at the door into the room opposite his own. A dim light came from under the door, just the same as when Matthew had first come upstairs. He carefully turned the knob and opened the door, careful not to make any noise.

He stiffened as his eyes met those of another: Mr. Hemming's brother, Mr. Balder. Thor's mention of a stone curse made a lot more sense now, and Matthew could feel his eyes widening in horror. Mr. Balder looked like he was turning into a graveyard statue.

"Not a very good look on me, is it?" Mr. Balder said quietly. The woman at his side shifted in her sleep, and Matthew recognized the matching rings they wore. Husband and wife.

Matthew shook his head. "I don't think it's gonna become a fashion trend, anyway," he replied, keeping his voice low.

Mr. Balder smiled. "You're a good lad," he said to Matthew. "I'm Balder, but I'm afraid I can't remember your name."

"Matthew Frog," Matthew introduced himself, coming forward. There was a genuine sense of kindness around this man, a kindness that sprung from pain, and Matthew could understand how he could be Mr. Hemming's brother. "I remember your name, though." He paused and looked down at the man thoughtfully. "You're not really human, are you?"

"No," Balder answered, shaking his head a tiny bit. "No, not at all. But I've dwelt among humans so that I almost feel as if I am one."

"An honorary human, then," Matthew said. He hesitated, biting his lip. "Listen, I, um, I talked to your brother a little while ago."

"I'm assuming you don't mean Thor," Mr. Balder said. His gaze was sharp, knowing. Definitely a sibling to Mr. Hemming. Then it softened. "How is Loki?"

Matthew shook his head. "It's not good," he confessed. "He's thinking all backwards—like he's not even Mr. Hemming anymore. I don't know what to do."

"You know this other side of Loki very well," Mr. Balder observed.

"He's my best friend," Matthew replied simply. "And he saved my life. But now…" He shook his head. "He's so different, and it's so confusing."

"I share in your predicament," Mr. Balder told him. "When last I saw Loki, he was my often exasperated older brother, who occasionally expressed a flair for the mischievous. I have never encountered this villain others say he has become. I hope I never need to. But I do wish I could speak to him again, see his face." Mr. Balder's gaze was somber. "I do not believe I will see the dawn, Matthew."

"I'm sorry," Matthew murmured. "This isn't right."

"Of course it is," Mr. Balder returned, surprising Matthew. "I took this to save the innocents. To save my brothers Thor and Loki. And I have found my wife, Julia, and that is all I have ever longed for. This is right, Matthew, for it was the price worth paying. I pay it willingly."

"One moment of happiness for years of pain?" Matthew shook his head. "That's not fair. But I already know that life isn't fair."

"Alas, that is so," Mr. Balder replied. His wife moved again, eyes opening briefly. Mr. Balder gave Matthew an apologetic look. "She needs her rest. I regret that it appears your time to leave has come."

"It's okay," Matthew assured him. "It was nice talking to you." He turned away and went back to the door.

"Matthew?"

Matthew looked over at Mr. Balder, lifting his eyebrows in question.

"Could you turn off the light, please?" Mr. Balder asked. "I cannot reach it, and—"

"You don't want to see what the curse is doing to you," Matthew finished softly. "I understand. Goodnight, Mr. Balder."

The light was already off by the time Mr. Balder replied: "Goodnight, Matthew."

Matthew closed the door behind him, and as he stood in the hall he realized that he was shaking. He used the palm of his hand to push the tears away from his eyes. He'd never talked to a dying person before. Mr. Balder seemed so, so sad, but… he didn't believe there was a way out of it. So he was going to be content to spend a last night with his wife, and when she woke up in the morning he would be gone.

Matthew went downstairs, and there he found Ms. Williams. She was in the dining room, a spread of old-looking books across the table. Reading glasses were perched precariously on the tip of her nose, and the look on her face was serious as she read. Trying to find help for Mr. Balder, Matthew thought. He hoped she would find something.

"Hey, Ms. Williams," Matthew said low tones, his voice cracking through.

Ms. Williams looked up from the book she was reading, and her wrinkles deepened with a smile before she took in Matthew's distressed expression. She stood up, tucking the glasses away as she came over to him. "Matthew, what is the matter?" she asked, kneeling in front of him and looking into his eyes. "Was it a nightmare?"

"Mr. Balder is really dying," Matthew struggled out. "He really is, and he knows it. It's just not fair, not _right_…" He was shaking even worse than he had been in the hall. Crying, too. Ms. Williams wrapped him up in her arms, kissing his hair. She loved him so much, but in such a different way from Mr. Hemming. And that was okay.

"There is no shame in being frightened, Matthew, nor in tears," Ms. Williams whispered. "Death is frightening, and it can hurt our hearts. But remember this, Matthew: if life is brief, death is even more so. After death there is only more abundant life, I know this."

"You do?" Matthew gave Ms. Williams a wondering look, sniffing as he cleared away his tears. He wasn't quite so shaky now, but he didn't want her to let him go just yet. "Man, Ms. Williams, who _were_ you back in our old land?"

"Oh, not the sort of person they write stories about," Lillian replied dismissively. "I'm not such an interesting character as that."

"Then those writers wouldn't know a good story if it hit them in the face," said Matthew. After a second he decided to add: "With a book."

Ms. Williams chuckled. "That's very kind of you, Matthew," she said. She leaned out of their embrace, brushing the backs of her fingers against the tears that had fallen from Matthew's eyes. "Do you want me to stay with you, or would you rather be on your own?"

"Can I stay down here?" Matthew asked. "Just for a little while." He did feel a bit better, but he wasn't ready to go back upstairs yet. Things had just been so _heavy_ today, Matthew half expected his shoulders to break under the weight.

"Of course you may," Lillian replied kindly, standing up. "However long you wish." She went back to the dining room table and Matthew followed, hugging his blanket closer. It was fuzzy, he liked that.

Matthew's fingers tentatively skimmed over the pages of one of the several books that were already open. He didn't even recognize the text of most of these, much less how to read them. He wondered how this could help Mr. Balder, if it could help at all.

Matthew heard a sharp buzzing, and Lillian picked up the cellular phone she had left on the tabletop, bringing it up to her ear as she answered. "Hello, Lillian Williams," she said. "Or whatever." She and Matthew exchanged humored looks. Ms. Williams' expression turned very serious, horror creeping in. "Describe the injuries."

Injuries? Matthew's eyebrows lowered as his concern escalated. Who was injured? Was it Mr. Hemming?

"Yes, yes that is extremely bad," Ms. Williams confirmed to the caller. "Whatever you do, _do not try to move them._ I will be there as soon as I can. Town hall, you said? Good." She closed her phone and glanced up at the ceiling before turning to Matthew. "Julia is too far into her pregnancy to move quickly enough. Matthew, are you willing to help me?"

Matthew nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"First, get your coat and shoes," Ms. Williams told him. "Then we have carriers to load."

* * *

Thor returned after a couple minutes, carrying a small sack of healing stones. He opened it and saw with some dismay that most of the stones were already broken. Fandral he went to first. Volstagg had carefully navigated him out of the corner, laying him out flat with his head propped up on Volstagg's lap. He was still unresponsive. Thor gave three of the six stones to Volstagg, praying that it would be enough.

He tried to a healing stone to Hogun, but the grim warrior firmly refused. He was handed a single stone nonetheless. Thor reached Sif and knelt beside her. She had her back against an intact segment of the wall, her breathing weak. David had used Fandral's cloak to help stem the profuse bleeding, but already the thick material was soaked through.

"Took you along enough," Sif grunted. Thor gave her an apologetic smile.

"Remove the binding," he instructed David. The man nodded, thankfully having little doubt that Thor knew what he was doing. Thor pulled as much of Sif's armor and cloth away from the gaping wound as possible before taking one of the healing stones and breaking it over the wound, massaging the enchanted grains into the injury.

It healed, but only partially. Just as it took much to harm a warrior of Asgard, it took much to heal them. Thor reached for a second stone but Sif stopped his hand. "There are only two left," she said. "Let us save those for greater emergencies."

"Oh, thank God you're here." It was Ruby who said this, heaving a sigh of relief as she stepped forward. Thor looked over and saw an older woman standing in the doorway, accompanied by Matthew. Both carried two cases, hanging from their shoulders by straps.

Volstagg looked up. "Lillian," he said, sounding surprised. "Have you come to help us?"

"That I have," Lillian confirmed. She had Matthew give one of his carriers to Ruby, who immediately went to Thor and Sif. Matthew she sent to Hogun, and she herself went over to Fandral and Volstagg.

David shot Regina a dark look. "Can't help out a bit, Your Majesty?" he snapped accusingly.

"Magic is different here," Regina answered hesitantly. "I might kill the person I'm trying to heal."

"Then we are not going to take that chance," Lillian said, kneeling beside Fandral and taking a pulse. She frowned. "I noticed you have some burns, Regina. There's balm for that in Matthew's case, he can apply it for you." She shook her head. "Oh, Fandral," she murmured.

"It's bad," Volstagg stated, struggling to keep himself from trembling. "Three healing stones weren't enough."

Lillian nodded, her fingers still measuring the frantic pulsing in Fandral's throat. His breathing was shallow, and in his unconsciousness it was even more of a struggle to draw in air. Lillian placed her ear beside his open mouth, recognizing the sound of punctured lungs. While the healing stones Volstagg had mentioned had successfully healed the injury to Fandral's head—flawlessly so, Lillian noted with intrigue—Fandral was a long way from being out of danger.

"Is there anything you can do?" Volstagg asked. His voice was shaking, full of fear. Lillian could tell that this young man meant even more to Volstagg than she had originally thought.

"Certainly," Lillian answered matter-of-factly. "Just hold him still for me." She slid the strap of one of the carriers off her shoulder and opened it. In the meantime, Ruby cleaned out the gash in Sif's stomach and then bound up the injury with a tightly-wrapped bandage. Sif kept her teeth gritted the whole way.

"Do you guys have a place to stay?" Ruby asked. She cleaned the blood off her hands and nudged the container of wipes to Sif so that she could do the same. Next they went to Mary Margaret, who was next to them with Thor, applying a salve to his black-crusted and weeping hand. It looked like a massive frostbite and a burn, all at once.

Sif shook her head, and Thor explained that they "were not people of this village."

Ruby nodded. "I figured you were from out of town," she said. "You should come with me, then. My granny owns the local inn, we've got rooms available. Because there is no way that Lillian can fit all of you in her house, she's already there with Charlene, and now Balder and Matthew. It'd be much too tight of a squeeze."

"We are grateful for your offer," Sif said. "We shall discuss it."

"Though I am afraid that the only way we can repay your kindness is through service," Thor informed her. "I have a friend here on Midgard who could help, but…" He hesitated, expression solemn. "Considering Loki's presence here, it is perhaps best that he does not know we are here."

"No problem," Ruby replied. "We always have room for an extra hand. It won't be hard to figure something out."

She glanced over to check how Matthew was doing. The boy was helping Hogun clean out the puncture wounds to his legs and then wrapped up the area with a white bandage. Ruby wondered at the expertise with which Matthew handled it, twisting and folding the material just right. Only the occasional tightening of Hogun's face indicated his pain, and Ruby could tell that Matthew was impressed.

"So," said Matthew, "this is probably gonna slow up your hunt for… um, Loki."

Hogun nodded tersely. Matthew straightened up and ran a quick eye over Regina's burns. "You'll be healed up in a couple days, provided you go about things the natural way," he said. Regina seemed surprised that a child could utter words so sharply barbed.

Matthew went over to Henry, who had sat down in a corner of the room, leaning into Emma's side without making a sound. Emma's face was creased in worry, her arm wrapped around Henry's shoulders. She didn't see the icy stare from Regina, or maybe she didn't even care.

Matthew sat down across from Henry, crossing his legs. "You okay?" he asked.

"I've…" Henry shuddered, tearing his gaze away from his surroundings. "I've never seen so much blood before."

Matthew looked around, frowning thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess it does bother some people," he observed. He shrugged. "Me, I'm a wolf. Was a wolf." His gaze lowered sadly. "My own pack drove me away. But what I mean is, blood isn't something that startles me the way it does other people. I'm a hunter."

"Mowgli, right?" Henry asked. Matthew's calmness with the situation seemed to be easing his nerves.

"_Mow_gli," Matthew corrected him, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "You know, like _cow? _My name has nothing to do with mowing lawns with glee, Disney obviously doesn't understand the concept of a pronunciation guide."

"That really bugs you, huh?" Henry remarked with a light chuckle. Matthew smiled back. He looked up as Ruby stepped next to him, pressing a surprisingly cold wipe into his palm as a physical reminder that he needed to clean Hogun's blood off his hands.

"I'm actually surprised that I'm not shook up over this," he admitted to Matthew as he worked to get the stains of scarlet off his fingers. "People are different from animals—packmates or prey. I guess after all the mania of today, I have nothing left to be shaken." He shrugged, finding the calm within himself almost eerie.

He stiffened as he felt Regina step up behind him. "Sherriff Swan, I would appreciate it if you would move away from my son," she growled, eyes narrowed venomously.

Henry sighed, head hanging in exhaustion. "Mom, can we please not do this right now?" he pleaded. "I don't… I want to go with Emma. You _lied_ to me, about everything. Look around you, Mom!" Henry glared up at Regina, and his gaze was dark, judging. "This is _your fault._ If you weren't so cruel to people, none of this would have ever happened. You…" He choked a moment. "You really are the Evil Queen."

"No, don't say that," Regina begged, tears threatening as terrified pain burst inside her. "I love you."

"Then prove it," Henry challenged her. "Let me go, and leave me, leave _everyone_ alone. I don't want to see you again."

Regina was struck silent, trembling. She told herself she was not going to cry. But after everything, a year of fighting to keep the boy she had raised from infancy… and he was telling her that he wanted nothing to do with her. He _despised_ her. "But," she whispered. "Henry."

He wouldn't look at her. Regina took several steps back when the intimidating presence called Thor loomed over her, standing between her and her son. "You heard the lad, witch," he growled. "Keep your distance."

Regina blinked up at him, feeling utterly lost. She turned away and stumbled out of the town hall, halted and comforted by no one. Ruby watched her go, for a brief second thinking of Loki. Then she shook her head and returned to the tasks at hand.

Her head turned sharply as Volstagg released a delighted cry. "Fandral, you're back with us!"

Immediately the others arose and ran or hobbled over to the corner of the hall, beaming joyously down at their youngest Asgardian warrior. Fandral's eyes struggled to open, unfocused and bleary. "Wh-what'd I miss?" he slurred. Friends and strangers laughed alike, the weight of fear rolling off their shoulders.

"The wraith is dead," Volstagg informed Fandral cheerfully. "And although it was not you who had the honor of striking the final blow, it should please you to know that it was your sword which struck, wielded in great worthiness by Prince David."

"Pri' David?" Fandral a satisfied, if somewhat dazed, noise. "Well, tha's alright. He's a rather 'andsome fellow, you know."

"Thanks, Fandral," David chuckled. Mary Margaret smiled and bobbed her head in agreement with Fandral's statement.

"You are a very lucky man, Fandral," Lillian told the Æsir. "The wraith threw you with just the angle and force that would have killed anything else."

"Hurrah for youth and immortality," Fandral cheered weakly. He looked up at Volstagg. "This has been great fun, Volstagg, but do you think it's about time we called it a night?"

"Whatever you wish," Volstagg promised. He wiped tears from his eyes. "You had me frightened there, Fandral."

"Pshaw." Fandral's lips quirked in an amused smile.

"Fandral is right to be calling this a night," Lillian confirmed. "You need to get as much rest tonight as possible."

"They'll be coming with me," Ruby announced, and gestured for the Asgardians to follow her. "Thank you so much for the help, Lillian. You're a miracle worker."

"Miracles can only come to those who have faith, dear," Lillian answered, a mysterious smile gracing her features. "Matthew, let's go."

"Wait." Thor stepped forward and then hesitated. "Lady Lillian, I would like to come with you. I haven't had the opportunity to see my little brother, Balder, since this afternoon and—"

"Of course, Thor," Lillian said.

"I can get you back to Granny's Inn when you're done talking," Matthew offered. Thor nodded his thanks and left with them.

Volstagg carried Fandral, who kept up his playful protestations, and Mary Margaret helped Sif. David formed a human crutch for Hogun. Henry was exhausted after the exceedingly stressful events of the first day in a Curse-broken town, and Emma took him home. Home, which now meant with her and Mary Margaret.

* * *

Lillian laughed and gently chided herself as she realized that she had forgotten to lock the door after she and Matthew had gone flying out to the Asgardians' aid. She led the way in, quietly requesting that Thor and Matthew kept their voices down.

"Balder's upstairs," she told Thor. "But first, I'd like to do something for that arm of yours. Mary Margaret did well with the salve and bandage, but it needs to rest as well." After a moment she had tied together an expert sling for Thor's right arm, and he nodded gratefully. He glanced in the direction of the staircase.

"Second door on the left," Lillian said, and smiled kindly when Thor looked over at her.

"Thank you," Thor said. He took the steps gently, remembering always the frailty of Midgard's structures. He felt nervous, knowing that he hadn't seen his little brother since he had collapsed on the road that afternoon, and problems could grow quickly in a day.

Thor hesitated in front of the door to Balder's room, then with great care took the handle and opened it. The room was dark, but Balder's voice soon rasped that Thor was free to turn on the light. The illumination revealed the smile of greeting pulling at Balder's lips. A woman very clearly with child lay curled into his side, breathing peacefully. Thor saw the matching rings and his breath hitched.

"You found her," he said in delight. He hadn't truly understood how a heart could burst with happiness for someone else, but that was precisely what it did now.

"Well, to be more accurate, her mother found me," Balder chuckled. He winced. "Hm. Apparently laughter is off the list of privileges as well."

Julia stirred and awoke, giving Thor a curious if somewhat bleary look. "Dusk didn't tell me he had a brother," she said, catching the physical similarities between Balder and Thor right away.

"Two, actually," Balder said, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "It wasn't until recently that we began rebuilding those bridges, as one might say." His fingers reached to caress her raven-black hair. "There's no need to hide my name here, love," he whispered, lifting his head to brush her lips with a kiss.

"Perhaps I should go," Thor said awkwardly.

"Absolutely not," Julia replied instantly, rising to her feet. She gave a teasing look in response to the pout of abandonment Balder sent her. "I have much to aid my mother with, and it is more than evident that you two need to talk."

With that and a quick _nice to meet you_ at Thor, Julia slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her before going downstairs to Lillian and Matthew. Thor looked around. "It's a nice room," he said, desperately searching for a way to coax conversation to life.

"It is," Balder agreed, looking up. "Julia tells me that it is the nursery. The child she bears, it, _she…_" He smiled, and Thor saw true ecstasy on his brother's face. "She's mine. There is a life growing inside of Julia, Thor, and she bears my legacy. That is… more than I had ever hoped for, in my wildest fantasies."

"I am so happy for you, Balder," Thor said sincerely. He could not pull the smile from his face if he tried.

"Blue and pink," Balder mused, regarding the colors of the nursery's wallpaper. "Cherry blossom pink. That's Julia's favorite color."

"I hadn't known," Thor replied. His fingers skimmed the surface of one wall. "And sky blue, that is your favorite?" Silly, that he hadn't known the favorite color of his own brother.

"I've always appreciated that sky blue is not always the same blue," Balder said thoughtfully. "Just as Balder is not always the same Balder. I change, thank the Norns." He smiled a little, regret in his eyes, then looked up at Thor again. "So, what was it that you wished to speak with me about?"

"I…" Thor shook his head and shrugged helplessly. "Ah, I have always envied Loki's way with words."

Balder smiled in understanding and waited, choosing not to interject and fluster Thor further.

"How… how do you feel?" Thor asked. "You collapsed earlier, and now… I can see for myself how far the stone curse has spread."

"I had hoped that was a question that wouldn't be asked," Balder said wryly. "Honestly, Thor? My nerves are raw. It feels as though rock has been scraped over my skin ceaselessly. Ruthlessly." Thor grimaced, and Balder formed a mirroring expression. "I won't deny that it is misery. But I am not afraid, Thor. Not anymore."

"You think that you can be saved?" Thor asked thoughtfully. Balder gave no answer, but his gaze was calm. Thor sighed, pulling up a stool and sitting beside his bedridden sibling. "You say you have no fear, Balder, but I must confess that I am greatly distressed," he said plainly. His shoulders slumped in weariness. "This madness… I had hoped that it would end this day. Instead it has only grown worse. So much treachery among those I trusted," he murmured sadly.

"I am afraid I have not been very helpful in that, either," Balder admitted. "Bitterness and grief make a poor companion, and forge weak loyalty. It shames me to no end to remember how readily I would have abandoned you."

"But you didn't," Thor pointed out. "You didn't, despite your pain and the terrible risk and the long slights between us. You didn't leave me, and that is what makes you so strong."

"Please don't exaggerate, brother," Balder said, looking away in embarrassment.

"I wasn't exaggerating," Thor replied. Balder fell silent.

Thor looked at his brother, the stone steadily creeping across his skin. He wondered how he had forgotten this man he shared kinship with, a man braver than many that Thor had encountered. This quiet courage was something Thor had never seen in Balder before. Or maybe he had forgotten. It wasn't until seeing it now that he was hit with a sharp stab, realizing how much he had missed having a little brother. How had dear Balder always been overlooked? He had so much to offer.

"Is it that distracting, Thor?" Balder asked, lifting a stone-encased hand. When Thor had first come in, it had only been four fingers.

"No, I…" Thor shook his head, absently picking at his gauntlets. "I was thinking."

Balder tilted his head curiously. "What of?" he inquired.

"Of…" Thor sighed, struggling with his words again. He looked back into his brother's eyes, and realized that Balder had no idea what Thor thought of him in earnest. "How have you always been overlooked, Balder?" Thor demanded, feeling a flash of ire against himself and so many others. "How could someone such as you be so constantly forgotten?"

Balder lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, wincing with the motion. "I suppose someone such as me just isn't that extraordinary," he remarked. "Certainly not mighty, like you; or brilliant, like Loki. I'm just… bright. A little clever."

"And shame on Asgard for giving you a name that so belittles you, brother," Thor said fiercely. Balder seemed to be taken aback. "You are… you are Balder the Enduring, Balder the Fierce, Balder the Brave, Balder the Kind, Balder the Friend and Warrior." He looked at Balder, and with a jolt saw that his little brother was shocked that someone could be so proud of him. "You are Balder the Questor, and that is a better and more honorable title for you than Mighty and Trickster both."

"I… Thor," Balder whispered, his voice husky. Tears shone in the blue eyes that matched Thor's, yet held such different memories within. "Thank you."

Thor's expression was open honesty as he cupped his warm hands around Balder's frighteningly cold ones. "I mean every word I tell you, Balder," he promised. "I have failed you long as a brother, and never have I cared, but now things are different. Things have changed."

Balder gazed at him in utter wonder. "Thor, when did you become a king?" he asked.

Thor smiled slightly. "When I learned how to become a brother," he replied.


	21. Chapter 20

**_Author's notes:_**_ I've had this knot twisting in my stomach for the past two to three weeks now, in regards to this very chapter. I swear it's not my sole purpose in life to tear your souls to shreds. Really!  
_

**_Warnings:_**_ Character death._

* * *

_Sing me to sleep_

_Sing me to sleep_

_And leave me alone_

_Don't try to wake me in the morning_

_'Cause I will be gone_

_Don't feel bad for me, I want you to know_

_Deep in the cell of my heart, I will feel so glad to go_

**_-Emily Browning, Asleep_**

* * *

Balder struggled against his exhaustion—he did not want to drive Thor away—but his eldest brother noticed his weariness nonetheless. Before, Balder wouldn't have thought it possible for Thor to see the troubles of others. Thor stood up, reluctant, and Balder could tell he was about to leave.

"I shall see you in the morning, brother," Thor promised.

"Yes," Balder murmured, looking away. "In the morning." He wanted to tell Thor of his certainty, of the knowledge deep in his bones that this night was going to be his last. Sometimes one could sense their end coming, and that was so with Balder. But as much as he wanted to tell Thor, even more so he didn't want to push anxiety into his brother's heart. Thor had suffered enough guilt on Balder's account.

He moved his good arm to the table beside the bed, but was unable to pick up the envelope that had been placed there. "Julia wrote it down for me," he explained to Thor as the Asgardian picked it up. "It is a letter, for Sif." He shook his head. "What you have told me of her bravery tonight, standing against a wraith… I was so very, very wrong about her, Thor. And I am ashamed."

He looked up at his brother, eyes pleading. "Please make sure that she reads it tonight, Thor," he begged. "I need to know that she will read it."

Thor nodded gravely. "I will see it done," he assured Balder. Balder felt relief ease some of his tense muscles; another measure of peace.

"Thank you, Thor," he said gratefully. His brother kept the letter clasped between his fingers with sweet-hearted delicacy, and the action coaxed a smile to Balder's tired features. Thor placed his other hand on Balder's face, thumb stroking a still soft cheek.

"I'll be seeing you again with the dawn," he told Balder. He took his hand away but Balder grabbed his wrist, wincing as his body protested.

"Thor," he began to ask, "when you find Loki… if I'm… please tell him that I still love him. I don't care what the others have said, or even what you have said. I still love Loki. Please tell him that for me."

Thor set the letter on the desk and hugged Balder. "You will tell him yourself," he said, but Balder's heart broke as he caught the first note of uncertainty in Thor's voice.

"Of course," Balder murmured. "Of course I will."

Thor reluctantly slipped away, taking the letter for Sif, and his steps sounded heavy as they went down the stairs. Balder blinked up at the white ceiling, topping four blue walls patterned with soft pink. His cheeks were wet when Julia rejoined him a few minutes later.

"Balder?" Her fingers caressed his face, silken brows drawing together in concern.

"I'm making my peace," Balder whispered. "But it's hard to let go."

Julia's gaze was deeply grieved. "There's no salvation for you, is there," she said, facing at last the cruel fact. Balder looked up at her in distress, and in there she saw her answer. Julia sobbed. "This isn't—we found each other at last, Balder!" she cried. "And so soon I will lose you. You… you won't even get to meet your daughter."

"Ssh." Balder pressed a finger against Julia's lips, cold and stone, and the sobs shuddered through her all the more. "Julia, don't be angry. This is more than I had ever hoped for. Please, dearest. Will you stay with me?"

Julia nodded, lying down beside Balder and pulling the blankets over both of them, clinging to her husband and wishing she could hide from the inevitable reality: that right after she had found her husband, she was going to lose him.

"I don't want to go to sleep," Julia confessed. "Balder, let's talk."

She felt his breath ruffle her hair. "What of, Julia?" he asked.

"Anything. Everything. I don't want to fall asleep, and miss you," Julia said. She shivered, pressing closer, longing for the humanity in her to save the curse taking her husband's.

"Yes." Balder's hand went to her belly, feeling the life she nurtured inside. "Let's talk about her, shall we? Our daughter." His lips grazed the top of her head, pausing his speech for a kiss. "What are we going to name her?"

"I had thought Benjamina," Julia told him. "Before the Curse broke, I only remembered my husband as Benjamin, and so I was going to name our daughter after him."

"Benjamina," Balder murmured. "Yes, I like the sound. What is its meaning?"

"Since it's a girl, 'daughter of the right hand,'" Julia replied. "Strong, trusted, an heiress to great power."

"I like it," Balder declared, kissing Julia's hair again. Julia tilted her head up so he could get the right place. "Benjamina she shall be."

"But what about her middle name?" Julia asked. "You should choose what that will be."

"Perhaps Pandora, like you?" Balder suggested. He chuckled lightly to show that he was in jest. Then he fell silent, thinking, and Julia waited. "Ván," Balder decided. "It means 'hope.' Because that is what I have found."

They looked into each other's eyes, soft light and soft dark. "Julia," Balder said quietly, "I know my end is coming, but I have never been so filled with hope as I am in this moment. We are going to have a legacy, you and I. There is a daughter to carry our mantle, who will find her own way in the worlds. Yes, I am full of hope because I know now that this does not end with us. It will continue on."

"Oh, Balder." Julia trembled, weeping again. "I am glad of your hope, but I still don't want you to go."

"I know, my love," Balder said, kissing her. "And I desire the same. But there are things that cannot be, and the best we can do is to make peace while we can." He fell silent again, until Julia's fingers wove between his and tightened.

"Don't stop talking, Balder," she pleaded. "Not yet."

Balder granted her wish and spoke, trying not to look at the stone crawling across his skin, remembering happier and worse times, reliving the days again with his wife now by his side. And she listened, and she spoke, and they all tried to forget what was so swiftly coming. Balder stroked her raven tresses until he couldn't move his arm anymore, silently grieving that the tears his wife shed upon his chest were unfelt.

* * *

"You, ah, you did say that the first time is usually the worst?" Fandral asked Volstagg. He hissed slightly through his teeth as Volstagg gently set him down on the floor inside of the inn Ruby had brought them to.

"Usually," Volstagg replied, absently watching Ruby as she picked out keys for each of them. "Though I must admit, the older warriors made killing a wraith sound much easier than the actual fact."

"The fish story always changes," Ruby commented, coming out from behind the counter and handing a different key to all of them. Fandral took a moment to appreciate the elaborate metalworking put into each key's tag. None of them were identical. "You're in luck," Ruby informed them. "There's just enough rooms for all of you, including Thor. Fandral, Sif, I suggest you take the two available rooms on the first floor. You need rest the most out of everyone."

Sif frowned, but she understood the reasoning of Ruby's words. Fandral seemed ready to protest, but a stern look from Volstagg prevented him. Fandral huffed, then winced.

"We'll discuss payment methods in the morning," Ruby said as she directed them to their rooms. "Unless you'd prefer right now?"

"While beholding your face, fair maiden, is a most luxurious experience," Fandral said with practiced flourish, "I think losing consciousness holds even more appeal."

"Yeah, I thought so," Ruby chuckled. "I'll see you guys in the morning." She disappeared off to wherever it was that she belonged. Sif went immediately into her room, and Hogun retreated to his, but Volstagg stayed with Fandral a while longer.

The room Fandral was to stay in was small, but treated with care, and there was a welcoming feel to the wooden walls. Volstagg's fingers pressed against the warm-colored timber.

"I am quite alright, Volstagg," Fandral assured the elder Warrior, sinking carefully down onto his bed. It was well-kept and comfortable, an exception from most inns. "Just a bit of knocking about, that's all."

"No, that is not all," Volstagg said worriedly. Guilt stabbed Fandral as he saw the close fear he had put into Volstagg's eyes. "Things… they have not been the same since Jotunheim. You nearly _died_ that day, Fandral, and it was only Loki and his indifference towards glory that saved you. Saved all of us. You haven't been the same since that day, and please don't try to convince me otherwise. You hang back in fights now, by the smallest amount. You're afraid that it will happen again. But you've been pierced in that very manner before, and it never elicited a response like this from you."

Fandral sighed, hanging his head in defeat. A shiver ran up his spine. "It was terrifying, Volstagg," he confessed. "I could feel myself _freezing _from the inside out, as though I were turning into a Frost Giant. And I couldn't stop wondering, while my essence was turning cold and I was helplessly watching as the Frost Giants closed in… how did we ever win? How did Jotunheim ever lose? I suspect we were very, very lucky."

Volstagg said nothing, crossing the room to sit beside Fandral. The bed creaked, but held. Fandral shivered again, rubbing his hand against the place where the Frost Giant's spike had gone through. "I can still feel it, some days," he admitted. "Reaching out, trying to turn me into… into… I don't know." He frowned soberly, but then forced himself to perk up. "Ah, but come now, Volstagg, let us speak of less solemn things. I espied a dining area downstairs. Do you think you shall be adventurous tomorrow morn and set your taste buds upon Midgardian cuisine? Providing that you can wait until morn," he added with a wink.

Volstagg smiled, for Fandral's sake more than anything. "Thor has spoken very highly of pizza," he said to Fandral. "He tells me that it is godly."

"Midgardians do think of the oddest names," Fandral remarked in amusement. His eyes twinkled, and Volstagg was gladdened by the sight of it. Fandral did not seem himself without his charm and humor.

"Perhaps they say the same of us," Volstagg replied with a chuckle. He stood back up. "The hour is growing late. Rest well, Fandral."

Fandral let out a teasing scoff. "Rest? A strong warrior of Asgard like me? Never."

They laughed together and said their farewells for the night, falling into slumber until the dawn should come.

* * *

Lillian was reading when Thor came back down the stairs, hidden away almost entirely behind stacks of worn books. Thor didn't see her at first, and caught sight of her only when the movement of her lifting head drew his attention. Lillian smiled in greeting, so briefly that Thor almost missed it, and went back to her books. Her lows lowered tiredly and he heard her murmur, "Useless."

Matthew had fallen asleep on the couch, looking as if he had done a flying leap for the cushions and then stayed that way, his form cast about haphazardly. Thor had intended only to speak with Balder for a few minutes, but he felt surprised to see now that nearly an hour had passed.

Matthew awoke at the sound of Thor's step. While the Asgardian could walk when a quiet step when he so desired, the boy had learned to keep attentive ears. He hadn't entered deep sleep, anyway. Cracking a yawn, he stretched in a cat-like manner before hopping to his feet. "Shall I get you to the inn?" he inquired.

Thor nodded, then his brow furrowed curiously as he looked around. "Where is Julia?" he asked.

"Outside," Lillian replied, not pulling her eyes away from the new book she had opened, paging through the great tome's index. "She wanted a few moments of peace to think, and to pray."

"Pray." Thor felt an odd mixture of surprise and understanding. Surprised that she was Midgardian and still believed in prayer, understanding that this faith had been the source of the steadiness in her eyes. He looked over at Lillian, wondering if the occasional murmurs from her that he hadn't been able to interpret from her had been prayer as well.

When he was a youth, he had scoffed at those of faith as naïve and fearful, refusing to face and fight the unknown. Now he looked at Lillian, who had certainly proven herself a woman of both mystery and worth (no wonder it was her that Loki had befriended), and she prayed. Her daughter, carrying the mantle of her mother's wisdom, prayed. Thor was bewildered, and he would readily admit it, but now was the time for him to go.

He looked over at Matthew, who had put on his shoes and a coat that Thor thought might be a little thick for thawing winter, but he did remember that those of southerly regions on the realms could have difficulty resisting the cold. "I am ready to depart, Matthew," he told the boy, who nodded.

"Right," said Matthew, "let's go." He opened the door, promising to Lillian that he would return soon. Outside Matthew went, a brief grumble against the weather escaping his lips before turning to see that Thor was following.

The Thunderer was, and soon boy and Æsir were walking briskly, Matthew following the familiar map within his head. They formed an odd contrast: the lanky, umber-skinned wolf boy from the jungle and the towering, golden warrior-prince of Asgard. Matthew's hand went up to the bandage on the side of his head, his expression thoughtful. "Mr. Thor," he began, "did you treat Mr. Hemming—Loki, I mean—the same way you treated Mr. Balder?" He looked up at Thor, and his gaze wasn't accusing or angry, only wondering.

"What do you mean by that?" Thor asked. He didn't understand the question, Matthew could see it even through the dark.

"I heard you and Mr. Balder talking," Matthew said, and lifted his hands defensively as Thor started to make an affronted noise. "Look, I just want to know about you! People never hate each other without reason, and I'm trying to figure out why Mr. Hemming... Anyway, I heard you talking about how Mr. Balder had always been overlooked, by you, by everybody. And I wondered if you treated Mr. Hemming like that."

"Loki wouldn't let himself be ignored," Thor mused, feeling a twinge of hurt as he considered why Loki had so desperately fought for attention, and how little he had won in the end. "It gave him an unfavorable reputation among many. I never gave it much thought, even to this day."

"Did you mock him?" Matthew asked. His voice was quiet, dark eyes searching Thor's face. Thor wondered how much the boy could see.

"Well, yes, but it was only done in jest," Thor replied. "We all did it, him as well. No one on Asgard could match Loki's sarcasm and wit, though admittedly they weren't talents held in great regard on our realm."

"Mr. Hemming understands words, Mr. Thor," Matthew said pointedly. Thor was puzzled by the emphasis. "He uses them carefully, as defense or a weapon. Even more so, now that his Loki part is back. Words have power, and they can _hurt._ A lot."

"I would never hurt Loki!" Thor cried in protest, his step halting. A part of him wondered in outrage who this sprig of a mortal thought he was, accusing Thor of wounding his own brother. In battle it had happened, yes, but only because the fates of entire realms had hung in the balance. Not for anything less would Thor force himself to harm his brother.

"Not on purpose," Matthew replied. He stopped his pace also, so Thor did not bother to resume his. "But sometimes…" Matthew's gaze turned down, shoulders growing heavy. "Sometimes he doesn't even realize how much he's hurting you," he finished quietly.

Thor could feel his chest tighten. "You are speaking from experience," he realized, and remembered what he had learned so well since Loki's fall: people in pain always find each other.

"Not everyone can be a silvertongue, Mr. Thor, and no one's perfect," Matthew told him. "But you've got to be careful with your words, because those stay with a person. Especially someone like Mr. Hemming. Think about some of the things that maybe you didn't say: I love you, I'm proud of you, I'm glad you're my brother, I respect you."

"You are a great man," Thor murmured softly to himself. Regret was etched deep into his face. "I have never spoken any of these words to my brother, Matthew."

Matthew was silent, scuffing his shoe. "I guess when you think about it, the betrayal was a long time coming, huh?" he said.

Thor sat down on the sidewalk, head in his hands. Matthew folded his legs and sat down next to him. "I truly am the worst brother in the Nine Realms," Thor said heavily.

"Well, you finally caught on, so that's a step in the right direction," Matthew said encouragingly.

"But what is the next step?" Thor wondered in despair. "So often I have tried to bridge the gap between Loki and I… and it is only now that I realize the gap has been growing for centuries." He shook his head. "Did I ever know my brother?"

"Probably not," Matthew said honestly. Thor winced, and Matthew realized there were certain questions better unanswered. "Look, you're reaching out to him now, and that _does_ count for something. Just don't be totally crushed when he doesn't reach back for a while, okay? He's been flying solo for a long time, from the sounds of it. He was surrounded by people, Mr. Thor—especially since you're both princes—but did he have any friends?"

"I don't know," Thor confessed. "He was always with my friends and I, I just assumed…" He shook his head. "He was terribly lonely, wasn't he? And we would laugh at him."

"I guess it takes one to know one," Matthew said thoughtfully. He looked over at the despondent Asgardian. "Mr. Thor, you're alright," he told the Thunderer with an approving nod. "I've gotten pretty good at sniffing out rotten eggs with the number I've been surrounded by in life, and there isn't a hint of that around you. I know this must be rough for you—we both had someone we trust unconditionally turn around and knife us—but I guess it's time for us to be the bigger men and not strike back."

He laughed softly. "Heh, Bagheera would never believe I could say something like that. Storybrooke really does change people."

"And how has it changed my brother?" Thor asked, his voice and bearing low.

"For the better," Matthew answered. "He just has to figure it out. And he will, Mr. Thor." He stood up and offered Thor a hand up. Thor smiled gratefully but stood on his own, not wanting to break the fragile bones of the human's hand.

"Thank you for speaking out, Matthew," Thor said humbly. "You are a great friend to Loki, I can see. Better than I have been," he added in shame.

"Life doesn't stop giving chances," Matthew replied promptly. "Come on, Mr. Thor, let's get you to that inn."

Thor nodded and they traveled the last amounts of the distance in silence, neither feeling inclined to speak. Matthew escorted Thor to the door of the inn and bid him goodnight, eyes darting alertly before he slipped out of the light of the streetlamps on his way home.

Thor went inside. No one was in the small entry he stepped into, and he looked around in slight panic as he wondered if maybe he should have asked Matthew in help finding an unoccupied room.

"You certainly took your time," Sif remarked dryly, slowly walking out of the room she was staying in. Were there enough rooms for all of them? That would be splendid.

"Balder and I had more to talk about than I had anticipated," Thor said with an apologetic shrug. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Sif."

"I couldn't sleep," Sif answered dismissively. She handed Thor a key, and he took a moment to admire the craftsmanship. "This is the key to your room, it's on the second floor. Last door on the left, I believe."

"Thank you," Thor said gratefully, an immense yawn releasing itself from his lungs. "And I have something for you as well," he added, placing the white envelope into Sif's hand. "It's from Balder. He wants you to read it tonight. In fact, I think he needs you to."

Sif nodded, eyeing the letter like she would a stalking dragon. She and Thor said their goodnights and they separated. Thor trudged upstairs and collapsed onto his bed, falling immediately into slumber.

* * *

Some minutes before Thor's return, Sif had not been alone. She had retrieved the belongings of herself and the other Asgardians from the horses, and had her nightwear set on the bed. She was not looking forward to the painful process of removing her armor—too much movement for her liking. Even when sitting, her abdomen throbbed. But she was alive; that was the important part.

Sif's teeth gritted in anger. Had Loki been there at the town hall, Fandral never would have skirted the possibility of death, and Sif wouldn't have either. Had Loki been there, he would have protected them and drug all of them away in a tactical retreat at just the right moment. Had Loki been there, he would have striven to save everyone. Curses! _Why_ did the little tagalong of childhood days have to turn on them? They all were weaker without him.

Because they needed him. There was a hole in their lives where Loki was supposed to be. Yet instead of that, there was this mad hunt.

A knock sounded at the door, a single rap without the accompaniment of a voice. "Come in, Hogun," Sif called. She looked in the mirror and realized in surprise that she couldn't braid her hair in preparation for the night anymore. How short it was. Sometimes she forgot. Her fingers reached up to brush against the cropped locks, not even half the length of her thumb, and Hogun entered.

"You miss it," he observed, nodding to her hair.

Sif's mouth tightened, and she jerked her hand down. "It is a vain folly," she said sharply.

Hogun seemed amused, or at least less grim. He wasn't going to say anything more on the matter, however, Sif could already see that. The often silent warrior had come here for other reasons than Sif's erstwhile tresses.

Hogun's limp had already eased from the near paralysis it had reduced him to. Still, it would be a number of days before he could tread smoothly again. Sif looked at him and waited, and Hogun looked back.

"You were planning to fight the wraith alone," he noted. So he had seen it, in the brief second she had glanced his way before seeing David on the other side of the room, taking up Fandral's sword.

"I had to," she replied. "And I would have done it alone, Hogun. For my honor—"

"Foolishness," Hogun cut her off. His hard gaze upon her bore a hint of forgiveness. "We fight together, Sif."

Sif blinked at Hogun and then dipped her head in silent thanks. Hogun had chosen to come down here and do the most unexpected: restore to Sif his trust. One never truly understood what happened behind Hogun's closed eyes.

Hogun left, not asking for Sif's help in journeying back up the stairs and Sif did not offer it. This was a battle Hogun desired to fight alone, and he should be allowed to do alone. Sif sat down on the edge of her bed and thought. For how long she didn't know, but eventually she heard the door to the inn open and a distinctive tread: Thor.

She winced as she lifted herself from the bed and picked up Thor's key from where she had set it on the dresser. She opened the door and almost smiled at the bewildered look on her friend's face. "You certainly took your time," she remarked dryly. It occurred to her how much like Loki she was in this moment: badly hurt and speaking in sarcasm. Strange.

A guilty look flashed across Thor's face. Again, Sif felt the impulse to smile. Still, for some reason she didn't. "Balder and I had more to talk about than I had anticipated," Thor explained, shrugging in apology. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Sif."

It still surprised Sif that apologies was something that Thor did now. Extraordinary, how much Jane Foster had changed Asgard's prince. "I couldn't sleep," Sif answered, trying to dismiss Thor's guilt as well as the sharp pain that came with thinking of Thor's human lover. She handed him his key. "This is the key to your room, it's on the second floor. Last door on the left, I believe."

Thor thanked her and then yawned. Then he surprised Sif by telling her that he had something for her as well, and gave her a white envelope, unsealed. "It's from Balder," Thor informed her. "He wants you to read it tonight. In fact, I think he needs you to."

The last words Thor murmured were low, almost afraid. Sif nodded, eyeing the letter warily. She murmured a suitable response to Thor's goodnight and they parted, Thor dragging himself upstairs while Sif forced herself to walk with care back to her room.

She took the several extra minutes required to change out of her armor and into the more comfortable tunic and leggings she wore to bed, her teeth clenched against the pain the entire way. She stayed seated on the edge of her bed, the lamp still on as she stared at the envelope held between her fingers.

She hated being agitated. Scowling, Sif opened the envelope and withdrew the folded letter. She refused to be intimidated by a piece of paper.

_Sif,_ the letter opened, _I hope that I am not passed onto Valhalla by the time you read this._ Sif's lips twitched in a brief smile. She could almost hear Balder's wry tones, and felt a hint of amusement at finding proof that Balder did indeed have a sense of humor.

_First of all, I wish to apologize. _At this, Sif's eyebrows lowered. Evidently the humor wouldn't continue through the rest of the letter. _My behavior towards you has been harsh and judgmental, and as I look back I am ashamed. Yes, the deal you made with Rumplestiltskin was wrong, but so many right things have come from it. I actually have a bond with my oldest brother now, something I never had before. And because of you, my wife and I are reunited, and now I learn that she carries our child._

_I am sorry, Sif. I say this in the humblest way, I assure you. Apologies do not come to me easily, but I can see that this one is long overdue. You are an honorable woman, Sif, an honorable warrior, and I have been the fool for not seeing it._

The letter nearly fell from Sif's fingers as they went slack from her shock. She was astonished: the last thing she had expected to find scratched into this paper was an apology, from Balder of all people. However, she could see that not all had yet been read, and so she continued.

_There is more on my mind, as well. I have seen the way you look at Thor; I know you love him. It is not only the love for a comrade or brother, but something that is both stronger and gentler. It is the same love I share with my wife, Julia._

_Part of me wants to ask how long you have loved Thor in this way, but truly, does such a question matter? Time renders itself irrelevant when one heart turns to another—Julia and I have known each other for barely a fraction of my time, and already it seems our souls have been joined since my first breath._

_I suppose the true thing that makes me wonder is the fact that you have not spoken to Thor. Why? You have never been one to hold back your thoughts. Is it because of the woman of whom Thor so fondly speaks, Jane Foster? My inclination is to believe so._

_Again you have surprised me, Sif, and again I realize how quickly I prejudiced myself against you. Once more, I must apologize. You love Thor, and he loves another, and you have chosen not to come between them. You may have acted in treason, Sif, but there is no doubt that you are still noble, and to the utmost extent._

_I can tell you that the loneliness will hurt, deep and sharp. Although he may never know, Thor has become your world now. I wish I could make this a promise, a guarantee, but I cannot: souls find each other, Sif, in all their varying amounts of brokenness. It seems that for you, that other part will not be Thor, but do not despair!_

_Remember, Sif, that it is despair which truly kills, not curses nor weapons nor any monster or army. Despair is what steals away hope and will. So do not give in, and I am sure that there is little chance of it. You are a fighter, Sif. I hope that someday we shall fight alongside as friends and equals._

_With all sincerity,_

_Balder Odinson_

Sif slowly forced herself to release her breath. First an apology, then insight and encouragement in the love she had for Thor, love that would not ever be returned in the way she desired. Balder was certainly an Æsir full of surprises.

Sif's head bowed, her shoulders hunching slightly. She couldn't recall quite when it started, her love for Thor. For many centuries he had been a friend, a brother-in-arms. Perhaps it was a few years ago that she had come to see it. It was possible. It actually had taken a hit to the face for her to realize that love was standing right in front of her.

Really, it oughtn't startle her so that Balder had known. Volstagg had said Balder could see it, what with being in love himself. There was a difference, however, in seeing that someone was in love and talking to them about it. Or, in Balder's case, writing a letter.

But not alone, it would seem. Sif's eyes flicked to a last section of script, written smaller and separate from the rest yet obviously by the same hand.

_In case you were wondering,_ the miniature letters started, _Balder wasn't able to write this on his own, so I, his wife, was his humble scribe. Balder does mean this is earnest, and if there was anything in the worlds that he could tell you, it would be this. Also, Sif, if you want to speak to me about anything at all, feel free to come find me. I'll be the black-haired woman who is looking _very_ pregnant._

_With equal sincerity to my husband,_

_Julia Pandora (or Charlene Boxer, I'll answer to both)_

Sif's eyebrows lifted and she nodded. Balder had married young for an Asgardian, very young, but it seemed that he had chosen very well. While Sif likely would not take up the offer to talk—deep, heartfelt conversations had never been the sort of thing she excelled at—she wanted to at least meet this Julia Pandora. Or Charlene Boxer. Curious that the mortals here went by so many names.

Sif folded the letter up and reinserted it into its envelope, rising to carefully place it on the dresser. She turned off the light and took several moments to position herself under the covers, her breath frequently hitching in her throat. She _ached_, and not just where Volstagg's ax had struck.

* * *

Loki sat awake far, far into the night. He kept his small fire blazing, wishing for a minor charm to keep it smokeless. He frowned as his thoughts continued to churn, however much he wanted them to still. He couldn't stop going back through the two conversations he had held with Ruby, the anger and understanding she had given him, rather than the fear he had so quickly grown accustomed to from mortals.

_"You are not a monster. That part of you is not a monster."_

_"You don't know anything about monsters."_

_"I'm a _werewolf!_"_

Loki remembered how, in less time than a second took, his condescension and transformed into utter shock—and yes, fear. Werewolves went by many names: lycans, walking wolves, children of the moon. There were many kinds but not many members, though Loki had heard rumors of Jotunheim…

No, Jotunheim was _not _the place he wanted to think of now. Loki's stomach growled and he started searching through his satchel for snacks, since he had already eaten the soup and sandwiches that Ruby had brought earlier. He'd cleaned the can and his hands so as to not attract insects or anything else unwelcome.

He managed to find a bag of dried fruits and nuts, which he carefully opened, still wary about making much noise. Whether or not the others were still looking for him in this dark (and he knew Sif and Hogun at least would be smarter than that), he didn't want to take chances.

Loki scooted a little closer to his gradually declining fire. He could feel the air growing steadily colder around him, although it was more an awareness than a discomfort with the dropping temperature. He could feel the dew collecting on his shoulders and hair; he'd stayed still for long enough.

The coals crackled on occasion, and Loki gazed down at them thoughtfully. It was a strange thing, for a werewolf to be found among mortals. The moon's offspring had been hunted out on Midgard centuries ago. Though there was always a possibility of them returning: Hati had long proven resourceful with what little power he had.

_"You are not a monster. That part of you is not a monster."_

How could a werewolf say something like that? A _werewolf, _of all creatures! Maybe she was right. But no, that couldn't possibly be. She said that she had seen the pictures, but she hadn't been there. She hadn't been there when the Bifrost froze into place, an iced tree of death, an intended weapon of salvation. She hadn't been there when Thor tossed him into the abyss (_you fell, liar, you fell_). She hadn't been there in the void. She _hadn't been there._

She was wrong. She couldn't possibly be right. A Frost Giant couldn't be anything other than a monster. But he had been an Æsir for so long… a human, too… perhaps Jotun wasn't all there was to him. Perhaps he could choose. Hadn't Matthew said something along those lines?

Loki sighed, massaging his forehead, and looked up as he realized the sky was turning grey with the coming dawn. Where had all the time gone? He hadn't slept, except when he had accidentally dozed off while watching Matthew. He looked up at the dull colors, a dreary banner over his head.

Loki made up his mind. Quickly and efficiently, he packed up his few things and extinguished the fire. He pulled his cellular phone from his duffel bag before hiding it away, then straightened to his feet and ran towards Storybrooke. He grinned over at a precocious stag and proceeded to outpace it.

A part of Loki was surprised when he took into consideration how _small_ Storybrooke was in comparison to all the other places he had dwelt. The entire town and the surrounding woods and bay would take up barely a sixth of Asgard's palace. He was surprised that he had always felt more claustrophobic in the massive halls than he did here in this little Midgardian place.

Most of the town's people had not arisen yet. The grey of the sky was still fairly dark; it couldn't be much later than seven o'clock. Loki approached his destination: the teashop of Mr. Ethan Starr. Starr made teas by profession—excellent loose stuff, not just the little bags one would drop into a cup—but the gentlemen was an herbalist by hobby. Loki happened to know that he kept something of everything in the back of his shop, and so that was where Loki went.

He was glad for his sharp eyes, picking up the dozens of labels with barely any light to aid him. He paused to take a small bag from the box near the door and slipping a pair of gloves over his hands. After a few minutes, he found what he had been seeking, and he carefully filled the bag with dried berries.

_All blessings to teashops that come with every desired tool,_ Loki thought to himself as he coaxed heat into a shallowly filled kettle. He emptied the bag and ground the berries with a mortar and pestle, adding the steam water to form a thick, crimson paste.

Loki withdrew Balder's knife from where he had hidden it in the back of his belt, taking the briefest moment to admire the workmanship and fair treatment the blade had obviously received. The paste gathered on the tips of his gloved fingers and he massaged it into the knife, careful not the cut the fragile material of the gloves. Eventually he nodded in satisfaction, concealing the knife again and removing all signs he had ever been in the shop. The gloves he dropped into the trash bin.

Loki saw the notepad and pen behind the teashop's polished wooden counter, and he hesitated. Bending to accommodate his height, he took up the pen and wrote for a moment, then tore the sheet off the notepad and tucking it into his pocket. He left the shop without so much as teasing the alarm.

The sky was pale gray at this point, the shadows of night almost gone. There was no more time to waste. Loki released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Help your brother. Beg Matthew's forgiveness. Do the right thing," he echoed Ruby's command from the previous night. He started trotting down the street, flipping open his phone to dial in a number.

* * *

Ruby's eyes snapped open and she glared vengefully at her ringing phone, buzzing loudly against the top of her bedside table. It took her three badly aimed grabs to get the obnoxious object into her claws, and she stabbed the answer button with her thumb.

"This had better be good," she growled. Because if it wasn't, she was pretty sure she was going to eat someone, namely the moron who had just called her on her _one day off._

"Ruby, it's…" The man on the other end hesitated. If Ruby still weren't half asleep she probably would have been able to identify him by now. "Loki," he finished. Going by his tone, he was having second thoughts. "I need your help."

Ruby groaned into her pillow. So much for sleeping in. "What's the problem, Tom?" she asked. "Hold on, let me reiterate: what's the problem _this time?_"

"Do you have a defibrillator?"

"Most places do these days—wait, why do you need a defibrillator?" Ruby sat up straight in alarm, loose strands from her braid flying around her face. "For Pete's sake, Tom, did you stop someone's heart?"

"No," Tom huffed impatiently. Going from the shortness of his breath, he was jogging. "But I'm going to need your help to restart one."

"You are making about as much sense as the two lives in my head," Ruby groused. She shoved her blankets aside and swung her legs off the edge of her bed, dropping to her feet. "Which is to say: none. Okay, who is the defibrillator for?"

"Balder," Tom replied, and quickly explained. "The stone curse can be escaped, I've done it myself, but unfortunately Balder can't use the same method, and I can't do it the same way. I possess about as much magic as a dying snail, thanks to Rumplestiltskin. So I'm having to use somewhat more rudimentary methods."

"Like a defibrillator?" Ruby questioned, and shook her head as she opened her closet, browsing for something to her tastes. She put Tom on speaker and set the phone on a shelf. "I'm not following you."

"The stone curse is parasitic," Tom informed her. "It isn't powered by an outside source, like most curses, it's powered by its victim. As long as there is life in the host, the stone curse can spread."

"So, let me guess," Ruby said, brow furrowing as she thought. Considering she didn't have a drop of coffee in her, she was doing pretty well. "You're going to use the defibrillator to stop Balder's heart, make this stone parasite believe its work is done, somehow get it off, and start Balder's heart up again?"

"Very good, except it will take a lot more than a defibrillator to stop an Æsir's heart," Tom answered. Ruby paused in buttoning her jeans to frown. "I have to go now, Ruby. Get the defibrillator and bring it to Charlene Boxer's house, stat."

"Tom, wait—!" Ruby sighed as the speaker clicked, signaling that the man had already hung up. She shook her head, inserting the phone into her pocket, and pulled on a shirt and jacket before zipping downstairs. Granny was already there, of course, about to go check on the staff who had opened the diner this morning.

The older woman gave her granddaughter a sharply questioning look. "What are you doing up so early?" she asked.

"Psycho duty," Ruby replied offhandedly, pulling the defibrillator in its case from the cupboard where it was kept stored. At Granny's bewildered and slightly disturbed look, she explained further. "Tom Hemming, you remember him? He's gone a little nuts since the Curse broke, something to do with the belief that he's an evil monster. Sound familiar? But it looks like he's sort of on his way back. He needs my help to save someone's life."

"Hence the defibrillator," Granny noted. She tossed Ruby a knife and her granddaughter caught it deftly. "If he tries anything, stab him," Granny advised. Ruby nodded and slipped the knife into another pocket, half certain she wouldn't have to use it. Tom hadn't tried to kill her during the verbal kicking she had given him last night, so why would he try for that now they were trying to save Balder?

* * *

Loki tucked his phone into his jacket and slowed from his run as he saw the kitchen lights were still on in Lillian's house. Likely she had never gone to sleep the previous night—but just as likely there were visitors in the former librarian's house. Still, Loki had decided that he would do this, and when the once-sorcerer set his mind to something, there was always a way to be found. He slipped into the backyard and snuck into the house from there, taking a moment to appreciate that Charlene oiled her door's tracks.

He paused after spotting Lillian, slumped over on the dining room table, eyes forced shut by exhaustion. He noticed a blanket left on the couch and picked it up, stepping over to Lillian and carefully wrapping it around her shoulders. She stirred, but did not awake. Loki moved on.

Balder was asleep, the same as he had been when Loki had first come. Charlene had remained also—Balder's _wife_, Loki reminded himself with a shake of his head. He was still amazed by that. But there was something different about the two of them now. Balder's face was more relaxed, peaceful and far too old. Charlene in contrast seemed to be in deep pain, clinging to Balder even in her sleep. Tears stained both of their cheeks.

Balder was nearly solid stone. Even his clothes at this point had been turned. All that remained flesh on his chest was the space over his heart, and the stone was slowly creeping up towards Balder's face. He had minutes. Less than that. Panic fluttered up Loki's throat and he ruthlessly quashed it. Ruby would make it in time.

Loki slowly withdrew the knife and set it down on the bedside table. It barely made a sound, but Balder's eyes snapped open and latched onto Loki's. The two brothers, long estranged, regarded each other silently. To Loki, Balder seemed much older than his seven hundred years should have allowed, his eyes carrying a pain that equaled Loki's own. Yet, beyond that pain was tranquility, and it bewildered the older immortal.

Immortal. What a pretentious title.

"Hello, Loki," Balder said quietly. To him, Loki seemed foreign. Marks inside the skin had never been the sort of thing Loki had expressed interest in, but Jotnar did bear tattoos to indicate identity. He was still tall, of course, with the same eyes that Balder had never decided were green or blue.

Who was this Loki, this merging of two people? Three people, to Balder: the Loki he knew, the Loki he had been told of, and Tom Hemming. According to some, the Curse had a way of changing people. How had it changed Loki?

"Hello, Balder," Loki replied, just as quiet. The blue of his gaze had never been so sad, so achingly empty, and Balder hated it. His eyes flicked over to where Loki had set a knife down—Balder's knife, the one he had lent to Matthew. Loki sat down in the same chair that Thor had several hours prior. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"I would tear myself from my body if it meant escaping this pain," Balder said honestly. There was no condescension in Loki's face. Some things hadn't changed about him. Julia shifted in her sleep, but Balder knew there was no danger of her awakening just yet: she had staved off sleep for too long, and it would take a typhoon to wake her now. Balder was glad of it; he didn't want to disturb what little peace his wife had left.

"I suppose they've told you of me," Loki said. He kept his face carefully under control, searching Balder's face almost hungrily. "Of what I have done."

"They have," Balder confirmed. His composure slipped and his expression turned desperate, pleading for answers. "Loki, _why?_ I know you! You are kind, though over the decades it has taken steadily more prodding for you to show it. Why would you ever… brother, _why?_"

"I'm not your brother," Loki responded, but it lacked its usual venom. "That's why. Because no matter how hard I strive, no matter how many times I drag the near-corpses of Thor and his friends from the battlefield and give them their strength from mine, no matter how many times _I have to nearly kill myself for the sake of Asgard,_ I will never be your brother. Ever."

Balder stared back at him for a long time, and Loki was surprised that he had somehow spewed out the truth. The Asgardian's gaze, strangely enough, was full of understanding. "Why do you think I left?" he said. "But something we both need to learn, Loki, is that family isn't something you earn. And sometimes they're broken and can't understand you the way you need them to, but you can't cut the ties and give up. Neither of us can."

"I never had you to start with," Loki said, looking away.

Balder's lips quirked in a brief smile. "I remember telling myself the same thing, the night I left Asgard," he replied. Loki gave him a startled look, and Balder's eyes softened in response. "You're not as lonely as you like to think, brother."

Loki glanced down as his phone vibrated in his pocket. _ETA: 5min,_ the text from Ruby read. Loki frowned. Five minutes could be too long.

"I wanted Thor to tell you something for me," Balder said, half musing. "I hadn't thought I would be able to say it to you myself. I wanted him to tell you that I still love you, no matter what has happened. And I do." His jaw tightened when Loki shook his head. "I didn't come out here hunting my own brother's blood, Loki. I came here to _find you._ To learn what went wrong. To see if maybe… maybe I could prove it was all one great mistake."

"You've been spending time with Matthew," Loki noted.

"He's a good lad," Balder replied. Loki could see that he was struggling to talk, the stone working to lock his jaw in place. He looked up at Loki quizzically. "Why did you come here, brother?" he asked. "I have a feeling it wasn't just to return my knife."

"I know what's happening to you," Loki said. "The screamer, it did this, and I can reverse it before it's too late. We only have to wait five minutes until Ruby gets here. You will live yet, Balder."

"I don't have five minutes, Loki," Balder pointed out. He seemed very calm; Loki had seen impending death have that effect on people. "I smell mistletoe—it's on the knife, isn't it?"

Loki's eyes darted to the blade. Mistletoe was lethal to Æsir, even in the smallest portions. Whether he was at risk from it, he didn't know, but Loki wasn't going to put that to the test. "Yes," he said. A part of him wanted to tell Balder to not be afraid, but Balder wasn't the frightened one here.

"Do it," Balder urged suddenly, and Loki's eyes widened in horror. "Mistletoe, a stab to the heart… that is a painless death."

"No!" Loki shot upright and backed away, nearly knocking over the chair. "Balder, I can't _murder _you, I'm here to save you!"

"Loki, you and I both know that once I am encased in stone it will not end there," Balder said. "I will still be alive under all that, suffocating while the stone works inward. Call me a coward if you wish, but I _cannot_ face that."

"Just a few more minutes," Loki begged. "A few more minutes, Balder, we can save you."

"A few minutes," Balder murmured tiredly. "Loki, I don't have one." The stone was creeping onto Balder's forehead, coming up behind his ears. The stone curse was about to complete its course and there was no time, no hope. "Please, brother, put me to sleep. Send me on my way. I don't want to linger like this."

Loki was trembling, eyes flashing between the knife and Balder. Desperate tears dripped off his chin. He fixed his gaze on Balder's face, the exhausted blue eyes that looked back at him. "Do you really want me to do this?" he asked. His voice was weak, cracking around the edges.

"Yes," Balder rasped.

Loki's head bowed and the fingers of his left hand clenched around the hilt of the knife. He stared at them, sharp lines blurring through his haze of tears. "Thor is never going to forgive me," he whispered, shivering as he thought of the powerful Asgardian's wrath. Balder gave no response, for he could no longer hear. Stone traced his cheekbones.

Loki's right hand drifted out, almost against his will, and rested upon Balder's transformed shoulder. The cold of it nearly bit. Loki's and Balder's eyes locked, tears and resignation.

"I trust you, Loki," Balder said, and said no more. His lips were sealed and gray.

Loki looked back down at him, not taking his hand from Balder's shoulder as he watched the stone reach greedily for Balder's eyes. "You shouldn't," he cried. The knife plunged in and pierced Balder's heart clean through. Balder's eyes snapped wide, shining too bright and then the light was lost entirely.

Loki pulled the knife out, stained gray rather than scarlet with Balder's essence, and the stone closed over the wound. Balder was gone, and a silent statue lay in his place. Grief shuddered through Loki's body, forcing him to the floor as the knife dropped from his fingers.

The door opened and Ruby rushed in. She jerked to a halt, taking in the fallen Loki and abandoned blade, the wholly stone Balder on the bed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"You're too late," Loki whispered, head bowed. "We're too late."


	22. Chapter 21

_**Author's notes:** And here we are, coming into the end stretch. Only a few more chapters after this! Wow, has it  
_really_ been five months since I started this little project? Jeepers. You'll see the pulling in of some loose threads in this chapter and the tossing out of a few more. One would think there'd be more pulling in than tossing out with the end of the story so close at hand, but no. XD_

_**Warnings:** Blood. Some self-harm.  
_

* * *

Thor had forgotten how cranky Fandral could be in the mornings. Pair that with his close encounter with death and the many injuries he still had to recover from, and he was a nightmare. The Thunderer huffed impatiently and stormed out of the younger Æsir's room, deciding to leave this mess to Volstagg. Norns knew how the fellow could get a sour-mooded Fandral to arise, but he did it every time.

Some minutes later they had all gathered, dressed in more casual tunics and light armor out of the mutual desire to move as little as possible. Fandral had bags under his eyes—evidently he hadn't slept much, and now Thor felt guilty for harassing him. The fair-haired warrior was leaning heavily on Volstagg, and out of respect no one commented.

Sif's brow furrowed as she looked around. "Lady Ruby said that she wished to discuss payment for lodgings in the morning," she reminded the other Asgardians. "But she isn't here."

"Perhaps she is still sleeping?" Volstagg suggested.

"I know I wish I were," Fandral grumped. He glared at Thor; the older Asgardian hoped it wouldn't be too long before Fandral returned to his natural default of charming attitudes.

"We should wait for her," Thor started reluctantly, his gaze frequently drifting to the door to the outside. He really wanted to go see Balder, but it would be dishonorable to leave without finding a way to repay Lady Ruby for her kind provision of lodgings.

"Yes, we should," Volstagg agreed. He gave Thor a look of understanding. "But not all of us have to. It's more than apparent that you want to see Balder, Thor. Go on ahead, we can manage here easily."

"Are you sure?" Thor asked uncertainly. Volstagg was right about his desire to go, but he didn't want to leave his companions behind.

"Walk out that door before I have to throw you out of it, Odinson," Sif replied, crossing her arms and giving Thor a look. The slight pallor to her skin clearly stated that she couldn't toss him out if she tried, but Thor understood her well enough. He thanked them all and left.

Fandral's lips pursed. "Does this mean I can go back to bed?" he asked hopefully.

"We're already up, so no," Sif answered mercilessly. She leaned back against a wall and frowned thoughtfully. "We still have to decide what we're going to do about Loki," she said. "It is doubtful that the people of this town will be of much help. The wraith wreaked much havoc upon this place."

"The wraith wreaked much havoc upon _me,_" Fandral grunted. Sif didn't spare him a sympathetic look, but then, that was Sif.

It was not difficult for Volstagg to catch the threat of growing discontent. "Come, Fandral, you wanted to try Midgardian cuisine," he said to his friend, catching himself before poking the other Asgardian in the ribs. "I think the dining hall has opened."

"Not hungry," Fandral scowled. Hogun nearly chuckled at the affronted look that appeared on Volstagg's face. How could _anyone_ not be hungry?

"The serving ladies are attractive," Volstagg prodded, eyebrows lifting.

Fandral hesitated, his scowl easing into a more contemplative expression. "Well… I suppose a light breakfast would be alright."

Volstagg laughed, guiding Fandral away. Sif hung back and Hogun cut her a glance, wondering what she was thinking. "Thor isn't the only one who wants to speak with Balder," he noted.

"I have questions for him," Sif confirmed, her voice lacking its usual sharpness. She pulled a white envelope from within the folds of her cloak and regarded it pensively. "But Thor is his brother, he has more right than I…"

"Go after Thor, Sif," Hogun cut her off. The older warrior's command seemed almost kind. At least, as kind as one such as Hogun could be. "Unless a miracle should come, we both know Balder does not have much time left."

"Which is the very reason why I hesitate," Sif answered. She frowned and put the letter back inside of her cloak. The small object evoked Hogun's curiosity, but he knew better than to ask. It was a quality of the other Æsir that Sif had always appreciated.

"The decision is yours," Hogun told her. He turned away and went to join Fandral and Volstagg in the dining hall. Sif hung back, uncertain. Finally, she made up her mind and set out after Thor. She took a moment to grab the last two healing stones, though she wasn't quite sure why. Well, instincts should never be ignored.

* * *

Lillian jolted awake as someone pounded on the front door, her reading glasses falling off her nose. She shook the cobwebs from her head, briefly wondering who had taken the time to wrap a blanket around her shoulders, and hurried to the door. Whoever was there was still knocking frantically. Lillian jerked the door open, preparing to snap quite angrily at the person who had chosen to make such a ruckus, but the words froze on her lips as she saw Ruby.

The young woman pushed past her without explanation for her presence, making a beeline for the stairs. She spun around before taking the first step up and fixed a look on command upon Lillian. "Whatever happens, _do not_ let Thor upstairs," she told the librarian. The urgency in her tone was nearly palpable.

"Is that a defibrillator?" Lillian asked, gesturing to the case in Ruby's hand with an incredulous expression.

"It's going to save Balder," Ruby replied curtly, already turning away and starting up the stairs. "Remember, Thor stays down here!" She rushed up the steps, praying that she wasn't too late. Lillian moved to follow but then stopped herself, deciding to trust the younger woman. She had proven herself to be nothing but helpful of late.

But why would she bring a defibrillator? Lillian shook her head in bewilderment as she went to close the still-open front door, then stumbled out of the way as Thor raced into the house. The Thunderer sped toward the stairs, and somehow Lillian managed to slip in front of him and block his path. She hoped the giant of a man wouldn't just run her over, because Lord knew that he could do it. He didn't, though, and gave her a look that was confused and more than slightly hurt.

"Lady Lillian, I must see my brother," Thor said, desperation in his voice. He was keeping himself from pushing Lillian aside, likely afraid of harming her. "That was Lady Ruby who ran in here ahead of me. Something terrible has happened, I know it. _Please_ let me pass!"

"Something has happened," Lillian confirmed, ill at ease with the fact that she didn't know what. "But it remains to be seen whether it will be good or bad. It is in everyone's best interests that you stay down here, Thor."

Thor's expression was, unsurprisingly, thunderous. "I cannot do nothing while my brother lies helpless upstairs!" he cried in protest. He tried to step past but Lillian was quick to get in his way again.

"Sometimes doing nothing is the best thing you can do, Thor," she replied, trying to calm the Asgardian. "Please, sit down and trust me. I've been helping you this far, why would I stop now?"

Thor's conflict could be openly seen, but he couldn't argue with Lillian's point. Reluctantly he nodded and stepped back, allowing Lillian the victory. He had a distressed look upon his face, as though some part of him knew that he had made the wrong decision.

Thor's and Lillian's heads snapped up when a wail came from upstairs. Lillian's complexion turned ashen. "Julia," she whispered. She and Thor turned in unison and rushed up the stairs. They didn't see Sif down the street break into a run, hearing the sound of anguish and pushed into response.

* * *

Failures in the past had always left a bitter taste in Loki's mouth, kindling his frustration and even pushing him into private fits of rage. There was no frustration with failure, no rage pressing at the seams of his control. Only twice before had grief torn Loki's soul apart: when he had learned that his family was not his own, and when he had said goodbye to Matthew yesterday afternoon, when he had been a disillusioned mortal whose whole world was crumbling into pieces.

Still crumbling. Sobs wracked his body, but he kept himself silent. No one could know that he was here. Ruby made no sound either.

Why did Balder have to be the one who died? It should have been Loki. He never should have taken his first breaths; it would have been a mercy to all the realms if Odin had crushed his infant skull against a rock that day in Jotunheim.

_Just as I crushed Matthew's skull?_ Loki curled into himself as he remembered again what a wicked, traitorous thing he was. Everything he loved, he destroyed. A monster couldn't do anything else, no matter what it wanted.

Before Loki had time to react, a gentle hand had settled onto his shoulder. "Hey, Tom," Ruby said quietly. She saw his tears but said nothing of them.

"There was no more time," Loki whimpered. "He didn't want to linger under the stone, so he… he… I killed him, Ruby. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I should have acted sooner."

"We can't give up yet," said Ruby, vain determination in her words. She turned and closed the door.

"He's _stone,_ Ruby," Loki spat viciously. "A defibrillator is nothing! And my magic cannot bring back the dead. No, Ruby. I know how to kill, and that is just what I have done."

Ruby silently set the defibrillator down in the chair Loki had been sitting in just four minutes prior. Her hands reached out touched Charlene's shoulders, just as gentle as they had been with Loki, and she coaxed the other woman awake. Charlene was still exhausted; she hadn't been asleep for long. She blinked up at Ruby as the other woman pulled up her to her feet, likely bewildered by her presence in the house.

Then she looked down. Her head bowed, shoulders hunching as the first tears came. "He's gone," she cried.

"I am so sorry, Charlene," Ruby said. She pulled the other woman into an embrace, holding her as she sobbed. Loki sat dumbly on the floor, staring at the knife that had somehow made it back into his hands. Gray smeared the blade—his palms, too.

Charlene wailed. Loki stiffened as his ears caught a familiar sound: leather on metal, heavy footsteps racing up the stairs. A horribly familiar figure burst into the room, red cloak swirling around his shoulders. Lillian was right behind.

Thor took in the stone Balder, the knife in Loki's hands, the weeping Charlene held by Ruby. "Loki," he whispered in horror. "What have you done?"

Loki dropped the knife and backed away, his eyes wide. "No, Thor—" Further words escaped him, panic locking his Silvertongue tight.

Thor's face transformed so drastically that for a moment Loki forgot the Asgardian was incapable of shapeshifting. Rage and sorrow twisted Thor's features to levels that Loki hadn't known were possible, and with a roar he surged forward, grabbing Loki and slamming him against the wall. The entire house shook.

"Thor, stop!" Ruby shouted, but her words fell on deaf ears.

"I trusted you," the Thunderer cried, blinding tears across his face. "I believed that there was still good in you despite everything, I believed that there was hope for redemption. So did Balder. _You've murdered him._"

Of all people, it was Lillian that Loki looked to. The woman's face had changed into an expression of deep betrayal, the hurt on her aging features stabbing at Loki's heart. Her eyes fixed on him, pleading for answers. Thor's grip on Loki's shoulders tightened and elicited a strangled cry from the cursed Jotun. He tried to wriggle free, entreating Thor to stop and listen.

"NO!" Thor screamed, and Loki froze as he heard the pain in the future king's voice, indescribable and horrifically real. "I have listened to you many times too often, Loki. I have trusted you too far, too long, but _no more!_"

"Thor, please let me explain—"

"I was wrong," Thor snarled hatefully. "I was wrong about _everything._ I believed that you could be good, be great, in spite of everything that has happened. I believed it even more strongly after speaking with Matthew last night. But now I see that it was all in vain. It never mattered what any of us did, you would _always_ become this. You were born a monster and you will always be a monster, Loki. And I was the fool for never seeing this beast for what it truly was."

Loki had stopped moving. Loki had stopped breathing. _You were born a monster and you will always be a monster._ Right out of Thor's own mouth. The only person who had followed after Loki and with frustrating persistence insisted that there was still a home for him to return to. And now there was no one from Loki's past who believed that Loki could ever be more than a monster, no one at all.

He closed his eyes, forcing his tense muscles to go slack. "So be it," he murmured.

"So be it?" Thor echoed with disbelieving anger. Loki didn't look back up at him. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Thor, let your brother go," Ruby ordered. She had left Charlene with Lillian and now stood beside the two enemies. Even if she was a werewolf, Loki doubted that she could force Thor to do anything he didn't want to. "_Now,_" she growled with emphasis.

"You misunderstand the danger of this situation, mortal," Thor snapped impatiently, and Loki was surprised to hear some of the derision Thor had once held for Midgardians return. He really did bring out the worst in people.

"The only thing I misunderstand, Thor, is—um, Tom?" Ruby's attention was distracted away, and Loki could almost feel the werewolf's shock. She stepped away and picked up the knife from where it had fallen. "What was that you were saying about Balder being stone?"

Loki's eyes widened. The blade of Balder's knife was stained scarlet. He turned his head sharply and saw in astonishment that the stone was fading from Balder's skin. With nothing left to feed on and its task still incomplete, the stone curse was dying. That meant Ruby was right, and the defibrillator could work. Perhaps Loki hadn't destroyed everything, after all.

"I can save him," Loki whispered. He locked eyes with Thor, pale and vibrant shades of blue clashing. "Thor, let me go, I can save him!"

"Save him? You just murdered him!"

Loki winced at the harsh words. "That was the first step," he spat impatiently. "Now release me, unless you want your brother to be lost to you forever. Ruby, wait for the stone to clear. The last place to revert back to flesh will be the skin over Balder's heart."

Thor stared into Loki's eyes and Loki stared back, keeping all traces of his intense unease from his face. The Æsir unwillingly relinquished his grip on Loki and stepped back, his dark expression bearing a warning. Loki knew that all sentiments had been abandoned now; if he didn't save Balder as he said he would, he was dead.

Charlene stared in wonder as she watched the pink flush return to Balder's body. Lillian had wrapped an arm around the back of her shoulders, and now Loki saw the striking similarities between them. Mother and daughter, of course. Loki took the knife from Ruby and set it aside, rolling up his sleeves.

There was some more commotion outside the door—additional people joining in the mayhem. Loki's teeth gritted apprehensively. Then he found himself distracted as a tired and somewhat cranky voice demanded: "What is going on out here? Everyone's yelling and crying and who let an elephant into the house?"

A brief smile flashed across Loki's face as Matthew pushed the adults aside, deeply disapproving of all the noise. Sif accompanied him, Loki noted with surprise, and she sized Loki up cautiously. A bandage covered one side of Matthew's head, and since it wasn't a very large one, the injury Loki had given him earlier wasn't too serious. The boy folded his arms and gave everyone a sour look. "Come on, what does a guy have to do to get any sleep around here?" he demanded.

"You might want to try earplugs," Loki suggested. He turned back to Ruby, who had pulled the defibrillator from its casing and was now asking if Loki knew how to set up the charge. He nodded, gaze turning down as he watched the gray on Balder's chest slowly deteriorate. This _would_ work, Hati help him…

Matthew was astounded. "M-Mr. Hemming?" he stammered. He was completely bewildered by Loki's presence, but that didn't diminish his delight any. "What are you doing here?"

"Attending to business," Loki replied.

"Tom Hemming," Charlene breathed, seeming to understand. "You're Loki, Balder's brother. He had hoped to see you before he went."

"Well, he can see me when he gets back," Loki said tersely. The last shadows of the stone curse died, clearing away the bleeding wound where Loki had thrust the knife through Balder's heart. Loki tossed the paddles to Ruby and charged the defibrillator to its maximum, hoping it would be enough to restart an Asgardian heart. "Now!"

The paddles came down and Balder's body jolted. Loki checked the pulse, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat as he felt nothing, and charged the defibrillator again. Balder's blood dripped down the side of his body, soaking into soft blue sheets. Loki snapped at Ruby to try again and she did.

The electricity discharged and for a second time Balder's body arced in reaction. The blood grew more profuse. Loki still could not detect a pulse. He snarled furiously as his tears fell unattended, swearing vehemently in various tongues. "Again!"

Still no result. Loki heard Thor stop breathing; no doubt there were tears all the day down into his beard. No one made a sound, watching, waiting. Loki _had_ to make this work. He charged the defibrillator again.

"Tom," Ruby said. Her hand held his arm. "Tom, he's gone."

"One more time, Ruby," Loki pleaded. "Just one more time." His hand went over Balder's heart, trying to keep in the oozing blood, and as the alarmingly cold liquid squeezed between his fingers, Loki had an idea. He reached out with his clean hand and grabbed Balder's knife, hesitating for not even a moment before slicing deep into his wrist.

"Tom!" Lillian cried in horror. Ruby's face was ashen. Loki could hear Thor's sharp intake of breath.

"I cannot use my magic, but it is still in my blood," Loki explained shortly, his voice tight with pain. He pushed apart the folds of Balder's pierced flesh and watched as his blood slowly dripped into the cut, straight down towards Balder's heart. Ruby reached out and clenched Loki's forearm in her fist, forcing the blood out in greater volume.

Loki felt dizzy; the blood was flowing faster than he had expected. He hadn't eaten much in the past two days, either. He pulled his fingers out of Balder's wound and set the defibrillator to charge. At his nod, Ruby brought the paddles down for the last time.

Air rushing into Balder's lungs was the most beautiful thing Loki had ever heard. Cries of delight echoed throughout the house. Charlene rushed to her husband's side and cradled his face in her hands, kissing him as she wept. Balder's eyes opened blearily and he lifted a hand to touch his wife's cheek. His eyes widened when he saw that it wasn't stone, and an amazed laugh burst from him.

Balder's face twisted in a grimace, and his arm fell back down. Too much blood was coming from the wound in his chest, the wound that Loki had inflicted. Panic flared inside of the Jotun, and he could feel his hands shaking. Sif was the one who stepped in then, and Loki sagged in relief as she produced a healing stone. Balder would still live, after all.

There were no dry eyes, Loki noted with amusement. And Thor and Sif looked as though they were both recovering from a significant beat-down. Did it have something to do with the wraith that had torn through the town last night?

Loki stumbled back as Matthew slammed into him with a hug, keenly aware of the eyes watching. Balder smiled. A wide grin lit Matthew's face, and Loki found himself wondering if the boy had swallowed a star to have an expression so bright.

Loki lifted his hands. "You'll forgive me if I don't return the embrace."

Matthew gave Loki's bloody hands a puzzled look. "Why?" he asked, then smacked his palm against his forehead. "Oh right, people are weird about blood and stuff. I keep forgetting."

Loki stiffened as Sif approached him, and he watched the Æsir carefully. She had her sword, as always, and Loki was unarmed and injured besides. The joyful group that had gathered around Balder's bed turned their eyes toward the wary pair and watched them apprehensively.

Yet, much to Loki's shock, Sif proffered a healing stone. "It's the last one," she explained briefly. "You're clearly the one who needs it."

Loki stared at it distrustfully and Sif huffed in exasperation. "For the Norns' sakes, Loki, it isn't going to turn into a snake. That is your preference."

"…Thank you," Loki said eventually, cautiously taking the stone from Sif's hand and crushing it in his palm, massaging the spellbound crumbs of rock into the gash across his wrist. It healed over, leaving a scar that would be gone in the next few days. Matthew watched the process curiously.

The room grew quiet, everyone becoming aware of the villain in their midst. Loki took a slow step back, and flinched when Ruby came up beside him. She was developing a rather annoying habit of taking him by surprise.

"Loki just saved Balder's life," the woman said, fixing the Asgardians with a hard look. "He didn't have to, but he did, and now your friend is still alive. If you have any decency among you, you'll let him walk away."

Matthew elbowed Loki lightly and gestured to his hands. "You want to get those cleaned up?" he asked. "Come on, the bathroom's this way." He took Loki's slick, scarlet hand, unbothered.

Cleansing the blood from his skin took longer than Loki was comfortable with. He was keenly aware of the Æsir in the hall. He turned his head to look at Matthew. "If 'people' are strange in regards to blood, what does that make you?" he queried. Surely there weren't _more_ werewolves in this town.

Matthew smirked. "Mancub," he replied, and seemed pleased by the look of immediate comprehension on Loki's face.

"Mowgli," he said, nodding. "Of course." He dried his hands and stepped out of the bathroom, every muscle tense as he sized up the Asgardians before him. They were each damaged to some extent, but without his magic, it wasn't a fight that Loki could win.

Ruby cleared a path through them and waved for Loki to come over. "Tom, you're with me," she informed him. Somehow Loki knew that she wouldn't lead him into a trap. He and Matthew both joined her and neither Thor nor Sif made any attempt to movie in. Apparently Ruby had been talking to them while Loki washed the blood off his hands.

"Loki." Thor's hand brushed Loki's shoulder and he cringed away. "Thank you," Thor said gratefully.

"It wasn't for you," Loki answered coldly, although he knew that wasn't true in the slightest. His eyes flicked to where Balder now stood, supported by his wife. She had found a new shirt for him, and the light blue made him seem gentler somehow. Lillian was next to them, brow furrowed slightly as she watched the proceedings.

"Loki, I'm sorry," Thor apologized, his expression infuriatingly sincere. "What I said… I am sorry, brother, I never should have. My rage got the better of me, I thought you had done the unthinkable."

"But I did do the unthinkable," Loki replied. His eyes were cool, yet somehow retained their sharpness. "And you responded in the manner expected of you."

He turned away, walking alongside Ruby as they went downstairs. Everyone else followed close behind, even Balder and Charlene. Matthew slipped away for a moment and then returned, placing a generously sized apple in Loki's hand. "For the road," he explained.

Loki looked back down at him, his eyes softening in _almost_ the way they used to. He slipped a folded piece of paper onto Matthew's palm and closed the boy's fingers around it. "I've never been good at honest apologies," he confessed quietly, making certain that Matthew was the only one who heard.

Ruby opened the front door and Loki stepped outside, turning as Ruby closed the door again. She stepped out of Thor's way, but when the prince opened the door again, Loki was already gone. "Quickly," he called to Sif. "We must catch him before he gets too far away."

"Thor."

Sif and Thor stopped, turning back towards Balder. The two brothers looked at each other. "Let him go," Balder advised. "Loki has done much that, according to what you have told me, he ordinarily wouldn't consider. He needs time to think."

"But—" Sif started.

"Leave him be," Balder insisted. A smile pulled his lips upward. "He just brought me back from the dead, Thor, don't you think he deserves some rest? Come on, have breakfast with us."

Thor sighed and gave in to his youngest brother's request, reluctantly closing the door and turning away. His shoulders sagged in disappointment. Balder nodded to him, indicating his gratitude for Thor's decision.

Matthew uncurled his fingers and opened the paper. _I'm sorry,_ it read simply, and it was signed—Matthew's heart jumped up his throat—_Mr. Hemming._ He folded the paper again. "I'm going back to bed," he announced, but Ruby could see from the curve of his lips and the light in his eyes that this was a lie.

She didn't say anything, watching as the boy trudged up the stairs with exaggerated weariness. A smile pulled at her lips. She turned as someone knocked on the door, and when she opened it, Mary Margaret and her family were on the other side, as well as the Warriors Three.

David lifted up a collection of maps. "We thought we'd come lend a hand," he explained as Ruby let them in.

"Please tell me you have breakfast here," Henry begged. Emma laughed and told him that was what he got for sleeping in. Henry protested that one was supposed to sleep in on a Saturday.

"Oh, I feel you, Henry," Lillian assured the boy, tossing him a smile. "Do you mind helping me whip up some breakfast?"

"Am I allowed to taste test?" Henry asked.

Lillian laughed. "Absolutely," she promised, shepherding the boy with her into the kitchen. "I have a recipe for a Finnish pudding that I haven't put to use for a while. Julia baked fresh bread yesterday, we can use that for some toast and tea to start everybody off."

Sif gave the Warriors Three a curious look. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"The Grandmother Lucas told us that the charges for our lodgings have been dropped," Fandral informed her cheerfully.

"Though I suspect it has a great deal more to do with Fandral's incessant flirting with her staff than it does her generosity," Volstagg added. Ruby released a sound that was more cackle than laugh.

Julia volunteered to take care of the tea. "Oh, and Ruby," she started to request as she turned to the woman, "could you please make sure that my husband stays off his feet? Don't look at me like that, Balder, I know you too well. You tried to go horseback riding the day after you took a spear to the gut."

"What are you, a masochist?" Ruby asked, leading Balder over to the dining room table and seating him there. She figured he'd want to be able to see his wife, and vice versa.

Balder chuckled. "What gives you that impression?" he replied, his face the picture of innocence.

"Don't make me throw this teakettle at you," Julia threatened. Her eyes were sparkling as Ruby had never seen them before, the sadness that had always seemed constant done away with at last. Balder grinned at his wife, his expression entirely incorrigible.

Ruby went back into the living room and recruited the Warriors Three for moving the boxes out from there and into the garage so there would be space. David and Emma happily lent their aid, and Julia somehow roped Mary Margaret into the kitchen. Sif was absent, Ruby figured she was using the bathroom.

Thor was puzzled by the fact that Ruby hadn't asked for his help, in fact kindly refused the offer, so he went over to Balder and took the seat next to him. Balder looked over. "I hadn't believed I would see you this morning, Thor," he told the eldest Odinson with a smile. "And now I have seen both of my brothers."

"But Loki has left," Thor said in sorrow, his fingers tracing unseen patterns in the table's wood. "We have driven him away again—"

"He'll be back," Balder said certainly. "Thor, he came out of hiding to save someone, from all that you have told me, he would now consider an enemy. Be patient, get some food in your belly. We'll see Loki again, and if I'm right, it will be before this day is out."

"How can you be so sure?" Thor wondered.

Balder reached out and stilled his brother's restless hands. "My instincts haven't failed me so far," he pointed out.

"Your instincts told you that you were going to die," Thor returned, his lips pressed thin. He was upset that Balder hadn't spoken to him of it last night, but it was a choice that Balder did not regret.

"And I did die," the youngest Odinson replied. "Mercifully quick, thanks to Loki. And I came back, also thanks to Loki."

"He _killed _you in order to save you," Thor muttered incredulously, shaking his head. He seemed equally disturbed and amazed.

Balder shrugged. "You've got to admit, it's not the strangest thing you've ever heard," he said. "We're lucky that our brother is so unorthodox, Thor. Otherwise we would gotten ourselves killed long ago by such conventional means."

Thor gave Balder a disconcerted look. "So you're saying that as a result of having Loki around, we're sure to die in a rather bizarre fashion."

"Our brother was never too keen on normal, Thor," Balder reminded him. "And you and I have never been too keen on safe. Put those together, and… well. I'd almost wager I'll die by getting sealed in a basement with a supernova, or something else just as obscure."

"A supernova?" Thor's eyebrows lifted. "I'll admit, that's one thing Loki hasn't come up against because of me. Come to think of it, nearly all of the obstacles Loki has had to face and overcome have been because of me." He grimaced as he came to realize Loki had even more reasons to despise him.

"As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens another man," Julia quoted as she gave each of them steaming mugs of tea. "You've spent all this time sharpening Loki, it's about time he turned around and returned the favor."

"Favor? You call this suffering and chaos a favor?" Thor's expression suggested that he thought Julia was delirious. The woman wasn't offended, chuckling lightly and obliging to explain.

"Think about it, Thor: did you become the great man you are today by waking up one morning and choosing it on your own, or was it harsh circumstance and something Loki did?"

Thor's eyes widened in astonishment. "I have the greatest brother in the Nine Realms," he stated.

"Thank you," Balder replied, pausing in the sipping of his tea to acknowledge his greatness.

"No, Balder, not you, I'm talking about Loki," Thor said distractedly. He then stammered in alarm: "I-I mean…"

Balder laughed and waved off his sibling's fretting. "I know what you mean, Thor, don't balk so." He grinned into his tea mug.

Lillian chuckled at the playfulness Balder exhibited, noticing as well the way he had worked to put his elder brother at ease again. "I can tell you're Tom's brother," she told him.

Balder blinked at her in surprise, a pleased expression appearing on his face. "Can you really?"

* * *

Matthew closed the door of the bedroom Ms. Williams was letting him stay in and locked it. The woman had been considerate enough to bring the clothes Mr. Hemming had purchased for Matthew with her after the library had been shut down. Matthew changed quickly out of his pajamas, pulling on black jeans and slipping his arms through the sleeves of an orange button-up shirt. He grabbed a jacket for last and looped Mr. Hemming's scarf (which Ms. Williams had cleaned) around his throat in case his friend would want it back.

He chuckled at the thought of shoes and opened one of his two windows, climbing down the tree that stood just outside since he knew he wouldn't be seen from the kitchen or dining room. He dropped lightly to the grass, hissing slightly as the cold dew shocked the soles of his feet. Maybe he should have grabbed those shoes, after all.

No matter. He just needed to get his blood pumping. Matthew slipped under the view of the kitchen and dining rooms' windows and headed out front without being noticed, running down the street. Matthew had always wondered why his feet were so thickly calloused. Well, now he knew.

The boy had to resign himself to the sidewalks after the handful of adults with work on Saturday morning started taking to the streets, but this didn't bother him so much. Mr. Hemming was coming _back,_ he could feel it deep inside, the fire of hope that had been so close to dying. Mr. Hemming had saved Mr. Balder, told Matthew that he was sorry. Storybrooke had changed his friend indeed, and he was finally starting to figure it out. He only needed one more push.

Matthew stumbled to a halt as something whizzed past his face: a paper airplane. He looked over sharply and saw Jackson Young standing, of all places, on top of a roof. He seemed to be perfectly happy up there. "Jackson Young, what are you doing on a roof?" Matthew asked.

Jackson shrugged, hands swinging out with the motion. "When I want to go someplace, I invite myself," he replied cheekily, springing from the roof to a tree and clambering quickly down. He was like a small, many-freckled squirrel. "Oh, and you can call me Peter Pan if you like."

"Mowgli," Matthew returned shortly. "Look, Jackson, I don't have time for this." Though, Peter Pan _had_ always seemed like a cool kid… however, since Disney couldn't be trusted to say _Mowgli_ correctly, it was entirely possible that they had missed the part where Peter Pan was a total pain in the neck.

"I know you think I'm a jerk, Mowg," Jackson said, already pinning a nickname to the other boy. "Jackson-me was a prig who liked getting other kids into trouble with the adults because… well, because I never got to join in on the fun. I'm sorry, okay? Mr. Hemming is my friend, too." He picked up the paper airplane, turning it carefully in his hands. "He sent me this plane, remember? It was the first time I was given an invitation to something I actually wanted. Come on, Mowg. What say we bury the hatchet and do this together?"

"It's not like it's urgent or anything," Matthew told him. "Peoples' lives aren't in danger. For once," he added with a snort. He still took a moment to consider Jackson's offer, then with a curt nod extended his hand. "Alright, deal," he agreed, and they shook to seal the bargain.

Matthew wasted no time and immediately set off at a run, Jackson racing after. More than ten minutes later the woods finally came in sight, and Jackson started lagging behind, panting heavily. Matthew swung back around and rejoined him, slowing to a walk.

"I thought you were up to this whole running thing," he commented, shooting a teasing grin at Jackson.

The red-haired lad rolled his eyes. "I usually get around by flying," he told Matthew, flapping his arms in example. "But with no fairy dust around here, I can't exactly do that." His steps faltered for a moment as something occurred to him. "I guess this means I'll finally have to grow up."

"Yeah, we've both been kids for a little too long," Matthew remarked thoughtfully. He and Jackson passed under shadow; tree branches leaned in towards each other far above the two boys' heads. Matthew appreciated the feel of cool earth against his feet, rather than the frozen concrete he had been treading.

"So, what's up with Mr. Hemming?" Jackson queried, spinning the paper airplane in his hands lazily.

"Well, I guess the gist of it is that Mr. Hemming's other identity, Loki, was some kind of a supervillain," Matthew explained. He looked to his right as a familiar scent teased at his nose, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Like in the comic books?"

"Exactly like in the comic books."

Jackson grinned. "Cool." The grin dropped. "Unless he was like Captain Hook, then that wouldn't be cool at all. The real Hook is nothing like the Disney guy, Mowg." He shuddered, his hand going to the place where the captain's titular weapon had once torn through. "He's soulless."

"From what I hear, Loki was more crazy than soulless," Matthew told him. "And really, really hurt. He feels like he was betrayed. Everything he thought he knew about himself was a lie, even the sort of creature he is."

"Inhuman?" Jackson's eyebrows lifted and he pointed the paper airplane's pointed nose at Matthew. "Now that is definitely cool. Inhuman friends are the best, Mowg. I'll show you what I mean, if Tink's anywhere around here."

"I think I already know what you mean," Matthew replied. He smiled wryly. "Though it was a little delayed, what with all of Mr. Hemming's crazy trauma. But we both know he's a good guy, Jackson, and that's what's important. We just need to convince everybody else. Look, I'm not gonna deny that Mr. Heming's been more than unstable lately—he did try to kill me twice yesterday—but now is when he needs us most. He's pretty extremely different, but he's _still Mr. Hemming._"

"Going from how happy you looked when we bumped into each other, things are improving," Jackson noted. The toe of his shoe found a pinecone and he kicked it high into the air.

"He saved his brother!" Matthew cried excitedly, jumping and punching the air to express his joy. "I saw him do it! He hates his family, but he saved his brother's life. If that's not improvement, then I don't know what it is. He's not going back to crazy supervillain on us, Jackson, I know it."

"It is a relief to hear that you still have such great faith in me, Matthew."

The boys spun around. Mr. Hemming was watching them both with a neutral expression, leaning casually against a tree. He had changed outfits again, a grey shirt with a black, hooded jacket. The jacket's interior was vibrant green, seen on the lowered hood.

Matthew shrugged, a smile putting his features at ease."How could I do anything less?" he replied.

Mr. Hemming smiled back, and Matthew found himself struggling with the strange desire to cry. It felt like it had been forever since that smile had shone out.

* * *

Everyone ended up gathering in the living room—Ruby had the right idea in clearing out the boxes—with bowls of pudding or mugs of tea in hand. Julia did not run a house of coffee. Henry went back to the kitchen for seconds. The pudding was sticky and fluffy and who cared that it was kind of pink he wanted to have this for breakfast _every_ day.

David had spread a few maps across the coffee table. "Okay, so this is a map of the entire town, and much of the surrounding woods," he explained. His fingers tapped the forests. "Although we don't have these mapped so well."

"Yes, Tom had always been somewhat disappointed in that," Lillian recalled as she came in from the kitchen, hands curled around her cup of earl grey. "He had been thinking of heading out and doing some cartography next weekend. Matthew was going to go with him."

"He really was happy here, wasn't he," Balder said to Lillian. She nodded.

"It always was with the children that Loki was at his best," Volstagg reminisced. "So much happiness he brought to my little ones over the years. They still don't understand the hatred expressed toward Loki now; the picture of their friend and the picture of the traitor are two different people to them."

"Speaking of Matthew, shouldn't he be coming down about now?" Julia wondered, glancing toward the upper floor.

"I wouldn't be so sure, he was pretty exhausted when he went upstairs," Ruby pointed out. "It has been a rough past few days for him."

Henry returned from the kitchen, bowl loaded plentifully with pudding. He seemed quite satisfied with the portion he had dealt himself. Emma took a drink of her tea and leaned forward to examine the maps. Man, talk about déjà vu.

The sheriff frowned thoughtfully. "We do at least know that Loki isn't going to be anywhere in town," she said. "That leaves us with the forest, which is of course badly mapped in some places and not mapped at all in others."

"We'll have plenty of volunteers to help with the search," Mary Margaret said certainly. "No one in Storybrooke is going to want someone like Loki running loose. No offense, Thor."

"None taken," Thor murmured quietly. He glanced over at Balder, surprised that his youngest brother hadn't spoken out. He was sitting next to Julia on the opposite couch, and now Thor saw that he had just dropped off to sleep. He hadn't considered how exhausted Balder might be, after the dramatic ordeal the morning had turned into.

"There are horses we can ride into areas inaccessible by car, and the kennels can be emptied to help us track," David added. He looked across the table at Thor. "Thor, you know more about Loki than any of us. What's the best way to find him? What strategies would he use, where would he go?"

* * *

Regina sat down on her couch, cursing softly as her burns still refused to heal. The salve Lillian had given her last night had helped greatly, but Regina was not accustomed to sustaining injuries for an extended time, and this was _aggravating._ "Come on, work," she growled. Her magic persistently refused to make a return.

She stiffened and slowly turned her head as she registered another presence in the room. Mr. Gold stood just inside the main entrance to the parlor, looking down at her demurely. Evidently he had regained his ability to teleport himself, otherwise Regina would have heard the door.

"We need to talk," the Dark One said.

Regina's eyebrows traveled up, forming a sardonic expression. "I'm surprised _you're_ the one saying this," she remarked. "I agree, we do need to talk. Particularly about that wraith you sent to kill me last night."

Gold made a dismissive gesture. "The wraith is of no importance," he said coolly. "It was destroyed, wasn't it?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "The Æsir have more capability than I had originally estimated, I'll admit. But, as I said, it is of no importance."

"Then what do we have to talk about?" Regina asked. She strongly wanted to take the burning candle on her tabletop and pour the hot wax onto Mr. Gold's face, to rid it of its smugness.

"Loki," Mr. Gold answered, and it was one of the rare moments in Regina's life when she could hear genuine anger in the imp's voice. He frowned in disapproval. "You shouldn't have taken his home away, Regina. The Trickster is a powerful enemy."

"Powerful enough to threaten you?" Regina queried. Her interest perked.

Mr. Gold didn't give her a reply. Instead he fixed his mild, vaguely threatening look upon Regina. "He's not the one you should be worried about."

"He's right, you know." Regina turned sharply again and saw Jefferson, leaning in the doorway into the dining room. The Mad Hatter had a look of deep unease on his face, and Regina knew it had nothing to do with her. "As _much_ as I would love to see Prince Loki tear you and your soul into miniscule shreds, the primary concern at this time is to stabilize him."

He paused and added cheerfully: "And then I can watch him tear you and your soul into miniscule shreds."

"Why would stabilizing him be important?" Regina demanded, vexed by how much they knew and she did not. Of course the pair had been working together to keep her in the dark. They had done it before. "Loki is a threat. We need to get rid of him."

Mr. Gold laughed softly, yet Regina could sense no trace of humor in it. "If only it were that easy," he said. "I'm not the only one who cursed Loki, Regina. His master did, too."

"With what?" Regina asked. Mr. Gold shook his head slightly and didn't answer. "And what master? If Loki is so unstable, who could possibly control him?"

"Loki _wasn't_ controllable," Mr. Gold replied. "That's what made him so powerful, he chose to work with whomever he desired. His submission was only an impression; in truth he was cooperating only while it proved beneficial to himself."

"Then how did he come to have a master, if he was so uncontrollable?" Regina wondered.

"That is a question you don't want the answer to," Mr. Gold promised her softly. Regina didn't notice the narrowing of Jefferson's eyes, the suspicious look he tossed to Gold. "What matters now is that we find Loki," the imp told them.

"If all else fails, we can lock him away," Regina said.

"No!" Jefferson snapped, and Regina was startled by his ferocity. Mr. Gold shot her a venomous glare. "Loki is never the sort of person you put in a cage, Regina. He doesn't forget and he never forgives. He's already got plenty of basis to murder you, don't give him reason to drag it out."

Mr. Gold had smoothed his features to their customary neutral. "I would suggest that you stay away from things, Regina," he said, and Regina could tell that this wasn't a suggestion at all. Something unfortunate would surely happen if she didn't take the suggestion to heart. "I've started to pick up the beginnings of a frenzy rising in this town, and you can be certain that Loki is deeply embroiled in it. Make yourself a target, Your Majesty, and he will strike. He doesn't miss, by the way. Not when you've made things personal."

With that, Mr. Gold left, and Jefferson slinked away without a sound as well. There was a reason the man had made such a great thief. Regina stayed in her sea, leaning back and examining her burns as she wondered what all of this meant, and how it was going to affect her. She couldn't tell if Gold was trying to protect himself, the town, Loki, or Regina. Could it possibly be all?

There was one thing that struck the most apprehension into Regina: Mr. Gold had sounded intimidated when he had mentioned Loki's so-called master. What was different about this mystery he refused to name, someone who could be powerful enough to threaten Rumplestiltskin?

Outside, Mr. Gold turned to Jefferson. "This, I believe, is yours," he said to the man. Holding his hand aloft, a large case appeared, tan and very familiar to Jefferson's eyes. The Hat's box.

He didn't take it. "Why do you want me to have this, Rumplestiltskin?" he inquired. His gaze was sharp, measuring. He knew the ways of the imp, and had no doubt that this was somehow a manipulation of events.

"It's better off in your hands than in Regina's," Mr. Gold replied simply. "Whenever Loki does come to kill her, we don't want him getting hold of this."

The pawnbroker made a good point. Jefferson reluctantly took back what was his, but Mr. Gold did not miss the suppressed gleam of delight in the Hatter's eyes. "By the way," Jefferson said as he slipped his fingers under the hatbox's handle. "Thanks for the help earlier. Spending another night stuck upside-down in a flipped over car didn't seem ideal."

"It's no trouble," Mr. Gold returned, deigning to mention the fact that it was thanks to him that Jefferson's car had been flipped over in the first place. The two colleagues parted ways, and Rumplestiltskin considered on how he ought to go about searching for Loki.

* * *

Matthew barreled into Loki with a hug for the second time that morning, and just when he thought he couldn't be any happier, Loki laughed and hugged him back, bending over to place a kiss on the back of his head.

"You are quite the vivacious lad, Matthew," he remarked. Matthew grinned up at him, and Loki's heart jolted when he saw that the boy had cleaned Loki's scarf, and now wore it loosely around his throat. Wouldn't he had gotten rid of it, considering whose it was?

Matthew turned and gestured to the boy who had come with him. "This is Jackson," he told Loki, and the Trickster remembered now where he had seen the ginger lad before. "Also known as Peter Pan. So, not entirely a jerk it turns out. You were right about him."

"I usually am, with most people," Loki said modestly. He offered a hand to Jackson, and the boy sprang right up and gave his best effort to shake it off.

Matthew and Jackson certainly made the most unlikely of compatriots, their contrasts sharp and immediately seen, and yet there was no doubt that now these two were operating as a team. It reminded Loki of himself and Thor of bygone days, and a shard of grief stuck in his throat.

"So, this is cool and stuff," Jackson said as he released Loki's hand. "But what do we do now?"

"That remains to be seen," Loki answered thoughtfully. He sat with folded legs among the pine needles and the boys immediately dropped and did the same. "No doubt this will all have concluded by the end of today, one way or another."

"But you're _good,_" Matthew pointed out. "I mean, yeah, you were having a bit of trouble yesterday, but considering the chaos we've been through lately, I'm impressed that it took you less than a day to get your head back on straight."

"Has it really only been a day?" Loki queried. The boys nodded affirmation and Loki's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Feels longer."

"I know what you mean by longer," Jackson said, expressing his sympathy. "I spent the whole day searching the town for the boys, but… nothing." He sighed. "Maybe when we go back to school on Monday, I'll find them there. Oh, who am I kidding? They'd sooner sit on a beehive than go to school."

"I'm sure you'll find them, Jackson," Matthew encouraged his newfound friend. "There are a lot of people in Storybrooke, you know, so it's just gonna take a while."

"Yeah…" Jackson rubbed at the scruff on his neck, then deliberately mussed up his hair. It was clear that he did not approve of the manicured appearance his other self had been forced into. He frowned when his fingers didn't catch on the points of his ears.

"Look, you saved Balder, you're totally on a roll, Mr. Hemming," Matthew said enthusiastically. "I say we go and talk to Thor now, call off this hunt that they've got going for you."

Loki envied Matthew his optimism, but he knew the truth. Thor hated him. Thor _hated_ him. Loki had always known that someday it would come, yet still there had always been that timid, shamefully weak part of him that had _hoped_…

He shouldn't have. Loki shook his head. "One life saved after centuries of neglect isn't much of a roll, Matthew," he pointed out.

"We can build on it," Matthew insisted. "Look, we didn't think we'd get an opportunity like this, we've got to take advantage of it."

"Mowg's right," Jackson agreed. "There's no time like the present to finish this, and what with Mr. Rumplestiltskin Gold looking for you, you might want to get a few more allies."

Loki went stiff. Matthew gave Jackson a puzzled look. "Mr. Gold's looking for Mr. Hemming?" he asked. "Why?"

"The Dark One and the Trickster are longtime friends, did you not know that?"

Loki shot to his feet and took a protective stance in front of the boys, teeth bared in a snarl as the most unexpected of visitors caught up to them: Sif.


	23. Chapter 22

_**Author's notes: **I apologize for the sheer amount of talking that goes on in this chapter. Why is dialogue easy to write and a demon to edit? We just don't know.  
_

_I learned today that adding new characters toward the end of a story is apparently a major no-no. Meh, like Peter Pan has to follow the rules. XD_

**_Warnings: _**_none come to mind  
_

* * *

"Sif." Loki could feel his heart hammering frantically, seeking an escape from the confines of his chest. He reminded himself that he couldn't flee, though outrunning Sif wouldn't be difficult, he had the lads to consider. "I rather doubt you would have come alone."

"Regardless of that doubt, alone is exactly how I have come," Sif replied. She was wearing lighter armor than was typical of her, and Loki wondered what happened to the stronger set. The warrioress directed a puzzled, somewhat concerned look upon Jackson and Matthew. "Children, what are you doing here?"

"We're helping Mr. Hemming," Matthew said defiantly, his eyes sparking. "Unlike you."

Sif sighed impatiently, shaking her head. Loki was still thrown off by how short her hair was; he knew that she only trimmed it on occasion, having some possessive tendencies when it came to the length. Loki slicing all of it off and turning it black when they had been children certainly contributed a great deal to that trait.

"I am not here as your hunter, Loki," Sif insisted, and Loki gave her a cynical look. "The others don't know that I've even gone in search for you."

Loki's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he wondered how Sif could have found him. He was a careful man by nature, so he knew that there was little chance that Sif could have been tracking Loki himself. That left the boys, who did know their way about the woods but hadn't been expecting to be followed.

"If not a hunter, as you claim, then what?" Loki queried. He kept his stare hostile and cold, keenly aware of the fact that she carried weaponry and he did not.

"Thor did not mean what he said earlier," Sif told Loki. "In his distress he uttered his worst fears—"

"I am not interested in Thor's defense," Loki spat. He shifted his stance, assuming a more aggressive bearing. "He finally spoke the truth you've always wanted him to speak, Sif, what more do you want?"

"I want things to return to the way they had been!" Sif shouted, and one would think she was chewing on glass by the anguish in her face. Loki stared at her without expression. "Before all this knowledge drove us mad, before the long rivalry between you and I turned into deadly enmity. Before you knew that you were a Frost Giant, and we knew that we were your worst tormentors."

"No more words, Sif," Loki said quietly, turning his head away to take her face from his vision. "Wishful sentences do not become your tongue."

"I came here to apologize, Loki," Sif said tiredly, hints of exasperation to her tone. "Not for Thor, but for myself. This massive disaster… Balder, Fandral, Volstagg, and Thor's near-deaths, your imprisonment… it's all my own fault."

Loki stilled, looking back to Sif curiously. He hadn't known that guilt and shame could ever find a place on the proud woman's features. "Explain."

"It is because of me that you are here," Sif told Loki. He could see her pulse jumping in her throat—she was afraid of the consequences her confession would bring. "I made a deal with Rumplestiltskin, for him to make you harmless, and what I didn't know was that abduction would be how he carried it out."

The Æsir's words drove the breath out of Loki's lungs more effectively than any blow. His heart stuttered to a shocked halt. Of course. _Sif,_ and her newly cropped hair. She wouldn't just cut it off for the sake of it, it had been her _price._ Rage swelled up inside of Loki, threatening to burst out from his shell. "So it was you who did this," he snarled. "You betrayed me to that ever-accursed imp, gave him excuse to twist my mind and bind my life… _Sif._" He stepped forward, his face a distorted mask of rage, until small hands grabbed each of his arms and held him back.

"She's here to apologize, Mr. Hemming," Matthew reminded him, dark eyes solemn. "Not to hurt you."

"Plus, in a round of fisticuffs, this chick will just kick your butt," Jackson pointed out. He'd been gauging Sif the entire time, and much to Loki's irritation, he had gauged correctly.

"I had no idea Rumplestiltskin would take things so far," Sif swore. "I wanted you to be stopped, Loki, but never, _never_ this. I'm sorry."

Loki refused to look at her, fingers curling and uncurling. "I have no use for your apologies," he said quietly, sounding quite rational while screaming wild murder inside. "Get out of here, Sif, before I kill you in a most grotesque fashion, and I'd rather that these lads did not have to bear witness to that."

Sif nodded acquiesce and slowly backed away, her expression downcast. Loki had always been impressed by the fact that with only a handful of sharp-edged words, he could bring anyone low. It had even worked on the Allfather, though admittedly at the most inopportune moment.

Sif paused, facing away from Loki. "I really _am_ sorry, Loki," she murmured. "It was never supposed to come to this."

"That is what you believe," Loki returned. Somewhere he knew the Norns were laughing at her belief, vicious mistresses of fate that they were.

Sif left, leaving a thoroughly disgruntled Loki in her silent wake.

"Well, that wasn't exactly a step forward in anger management," Jackson remarked. Loki was beginning to suspect the boy had a knack for inserting dry commentary in places where it was least desired.

"But you didn't grab her in a chokehold or try to bash her skull in with a rock, so hey," said Matthew with a shrug. "It's the little things that count."

Loki winced. He wasn't sure if he should be disturbed by Matthew's callousness. The boy scuffed his brown heels in the soil and looked off in the direction Sif had gone thoughtfully.

"So, what next?" Jackson asked. He rubbed at his plentifully freckled nose.

"I don't know," Loki lied. In truth he did know, but he didn't want to think of it. He _especially_ didn't want to think of it after Sif had come in and told Loki that it was essentially her doings that had brought about Loki's violently conflicted state of mind, and everything that had followed as a result.

If he didn't think of what he had to do, perhaps he wouldn't have to do it.

Matthew glanced down at where he had wrapped Loki's scarf around his neck and looked back up at Loki. "Do you want your scarf back?" he asked.

"No, you keep it, Matthew," Loki replied. "The cold and I are not bothers to each other." He smiled briefly as he noticed the utterly sentimental notion he'd succumbed to. He really had changed.

He looked down at the two boys alongside him, one dear and the other barely known, but both willing to stay by his side. Even with Sif present. Loki set a hand their shoulders, prompting them to look up. "I need you two to go back into town," he told them, and offered an assuring smile. "I'll be fine, trust me."

"Are you sure?" Matthew asked. He was reluctant to go. "That Sif lady is pretty smart. If she found you once, she'll find you again."

"I did say this was ending today," Loki replied. His expression turned pensive and he considered the way it was bound to end. "Don't worry about me, Matthew. I'll see you again soon."

"Is that a promise?" Matthew's gaze was sharp. Loki met it.

"Yes."

That was good enough for Matthew. He nodded firmly and gestured to Jackson, who fell in beside him. The other boy's step was light, almost as though he ought to be walking on air rather than the ground.

It was fortunate that Matthew didn't know Loki was such an adept liar.

* * *

Sif collided with Rumplestiltskin for the second time since coming to Storybrooke. She stumbled back, breath hissing between her teeth in a hostile manner. The imp smiled up at her, his eyes twin pools of deep cruelty.

Sif recognized a seeking spell when she saw one. Rumplestiltskin tucked the green-stoned ring away in his tailored gray jacket. "You're searching for Loki," Sif stated.

"You've already found him," Rumplestiltskin replied mildly. "Care to lend a hand, dearie?"

Sif grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, snarling into his face. She noted with pleasure the way Rumplestiltskin's eyes rounded, betraying hints of fear. "You can _rot_ in the deepest pits of Helheim, for all I care!" she spat furiously. "Disgusting creature, you couldn't even hold this wicked deal."

"You never requested that it be permanent," Rumplestiltskin answered.

"And a good thing I didn't," Sif declared. Rumplestiltskin's brows drew together to form an incredulous expression. "Leave Loki alone, imp. This is Asgard's business, and if I find you meddling again…" She hesitated, cursing under her breath, then locked eyes with her enemy. "To Helheim with my honor. I'll see you dead."

She pushed the sometime human from her path and stormed away. Mr. Gold pulled the wrinkles from his coat and jacket, taking a moment to straighten his vibrant yellow tie. The ring returned from his jacket's inner pocket, and he considered the gleaming emerald, pulsing in promise that Loki drew nearer.

Mr. Gold hid the ring away again and stepped forward, polished cane tapping the sidewalk.

* * *

Ruby found Loki at the docks, standing at the very end. If he shifted his heels forward just a little more, he'd tip over the edge and into the freezing water. Not that the cold would put him in any danger. As children, Thor had always been annoyed by the fact that after an unplanned dunk, Loki would be vexed but never shivering.

"Hello, Ruby," Loki said as the woman approached. The creaking boards of the dock allowed him to hear her coming, for a change.

"Hey, Tom," Ruby returned. "I gotta say, you've got some guts to come back into town, especially after… you know." She stood alongside him now, and looked over. "I definitely didn't get woken up early this morning expecting to bring a statue back to life with a defibrillator."

"You make it sound so easy," Loki said lightly, turning to look back at her. His eyes hinted at the ice from which he came, yet somehow they were not harsh. "Your hair looks awful," Loki observed.

"It's quite possible that it has something to do with flying out of my bed in a blind panic," Ruby answered. She smiled, but it was brief, for her expression turned more somber. "Balder convinced Thor to give you some space," she told Loki. "But, unfortunately, David, Snow, and Emma are all pressing to set up a plan to hunt you down. They aren't comfortable with having, um… another Regina in town, I think is the way they put it."

"Regina?" Loki scoffed. "That's insulting, they only rank me as dangerous as a witch."

Ruby smacked him lightly upside the head. Loki remembered how Thor had used to do that when they were youths and Loki was being too complicated with his words. "Don't kid about this, man," Ruby said seriously. "David and Snow consider you to be a genuine threat to their people, and… I just don't want this to escalate beyond our control. Snow is my best friend, Tom."

"I would never dream of coming between you," Loki murmured. Some bitter part of him reminded of the fact that he had never had a best friend. He'd been too busy taking care of all of Thor's.

"Thor's still kicking himself for what he said to you, by the way," Ruby informed the former sorcerer. A thoughtful look entered her face. "He and Balder got to talking, about you, about each other. Did you have any idea how much you contributed to Thor's kingly side?"

"_What?_"

"Yeah, Thor didn't, either." Ruby glanced over at Loki, whose expression had turned anxious and confused. "You three brothers have a _lot_ to talk about."

"That is a profound understatement," Loki muttered. He turned away from Ruby, his troubled stare attempting to pierce through the layers of gray water. The dull color was turning more blue in reflection of the sky. It promised to be a warm, sunny day; a gift of proper spring weather.

Ruby sighed. "Tom, they're going to be hunting you out there," she said. "If you're seen, you're gone. Regardless of what we do, there's only one way that this can end. They're here to take you back to prison, Tom, and that's what they're going to do."

Loki's breath released in a slow, wordless admittance of fear. "I am aware," he replied softly. Ruby thought he was done with his words, but Loki had a few more left to say. "You have already told me that I know what to do, Ruby. And I do."

Ruby nodded understanding, her gaze kind. "It's okay to be scared, Tom," she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking the distressed Jotun in the eye. "Whatever man or monster you were, you're a good man now. And that counts."

Loki did not expect the hug, and feeling of it lingered even after Ruby pulled away. In a flurry of crimson and black, she was gone, and Loki was finally alone. The cold seemed to be amplified by his solitary state. Seagulls cried out from above as they wheeled, and Loki wished he could be so bold as to cry out with them.

Ruby was right. He knew what to do.

* * *

"Where'd everybody go?" Matthew wondered, pulling a banana's peel down to expose the edible portion of the fruit. The house was empty of both Asgardians and humans, and it looked as though it had been left in a rush.

Jackson shrugged, picking up an abandoned bowl of pudding. "Beats me," he replied after licking off the spoon. He hummed appreciatively and filled the spoon again.

"They're at the town hall."

The two boys turned quickly; not just in surprise but in reaction. The banana dropped from Matthew's grasp and his fingers reflexively curled into claws, and Jackson's right hand darted for a knife that wasn't there. Ruby stood in the open front door, taking note of Matthew and Jackson's unusual responses but choosing to say nothing of them.

"Town hall? What's going down?" Jackson asked.

"The hunt for Mr. Hemming," Matthew answered before Ruby could. He darted forward, snatching the bowl from Jackson's hands and setting it back down on the table. "Come on, we've got to stop them!"

The trio raced out of the house, heading for Storybrooke's town hall. A crowd had already surrounded the building. David had spread out a map on top of the roof of his truck, and he and Thor stood alongside as they held intense discussion. Their fingers traced broad stretches of woodland on the map, most of it lacking details.

"Oh man," Matthew groaned as he took in the crowds, volunteers to help bring Mr. Hemming in. "This is bad."

* * *

Balder sighed, shaking his head. Julia gave him an inquiring look and he shook his head again. "This is awful," he murmured. "Leading a manhunt for my own brother. I feel sick."

"It's for the safety of the town, Balder," Julia pointed out. "And Loki, too. Without his magic, he's much more vulnerable. On Asgard he'll be safe."

"Yes, but will he be safe from Asgard?" Balder wondered. His frown grew more pronounced. "Loki saved my life, Julia. Even if he never truly cared about what I was doing, he would still step in and intervene whenever he knew that I was truly in peril. Loki is a master of indifference, but the truth is that he would fall on a sword if he thought it would protect those he loved. He is the lord of masks and shades, yet loyal to the death. To see that it has come to _this…_ grief is too weak a word to describe it."

"An end has to be brought about somehow, Balder," Julia reminded him. Balder didn't want to agree, but neither could he deny that his wife was right.

"Terrible news! Terrible news!" A short man (Leroy, Julia informed Balder) pushed his way through the crowd until he reached Mary Margaret, accompanied by six other men of similar heights. "We were out to the town limits," he explained, and gestured to one of his companions. "Tell 'em who you think you are, Sneezy."

"Will you stop calling me that?" Sneezy, a bearded man with a slightly frazzled air, snapped impatiently at the fellows surrounding him. "You know who I am. I'm Tom Clark, I own the Dark Star Pharmacy. What's going on here?"

Panic rippled through the crowd. Leroy turned a grim look upon Mary Margaret. "When you cross the town border, you lose your memory all over again. If we try to leave, our cursed selves become our only selves."

"We're trapped here!" someone shrieked in terror. Pandemonium broke out, until David hollered everyone into silence with impressive volume.

"My fellows and I passed through the barrier without harm," Balder said, exchanging bewildered looks with the other Asgardians. "Why should we be untouched by what endangers you?"

"It's probably because you have nothing to replace your real memories with," Mary Margaret replied. "The Curse never affected you."

"That, I can assure you, is not true," Balder murmured. Julia squeezed his hand, a comforting reminder that time was over.

"What do we do?!" an unknown person wailed.

"Stay calm, just, _stay calm,_" David called over the fearful crowd. "Listen, this is an important issue, but right now the priority is to help anyone who was affected by the storm last night, and to find Loki. If you're here as a volunteer for the search and rescue, please talk to Sn—Mary Margaret. If you're here to help search for Loki, stay here. Thor and I will be explaining our strategy shortly."

A good portion of the crowd went with Mary Margaret into the semi-demolished town hall. The rest stayed outside, murmuring anxiously amongst themselves. "Okay, Thor," David said as he looked up at the Asgardian. "You're up."

Thor hesitated before addressing the crowd, his eyes bearing the clear marks of distress. "Loki is a secretive man by nature," he began. "He will not face a great number if he can hide from them—or among them. Last we learned, Loki was hiding in the northeastern area of your forests, though likely he has moved on by now. We will start the search there, sweeping out in teams of five or six."

David finished in his headcount. "Since there's about eighty of us, that will be sixteen teams of five. We have thirty-four horses available for whoever can ride, and seven tracking dogs…"

Balder's mind kindly hazed everything else out, though he did notice Sif's eventual return. He didn't want to be here, didn't want anything to do with this, but Julia was right. An end had to be brought about somehow. He became aware of his grip tightening on Julia's hand, and his wife squeezing back, wordlessly trying to comfort him. Ever a healer, the woman of his heart.

Eventually the teams of searchers were dispatched. Thor and David both jumped down from the bed of the pickup truck, and Thor sagged heavily. Volstagg set his hand on the younger Æsir's shoulder, his gaze soft with understanding. Thor looked as though all he wanted to do was break into pieces and weep, weep for all eternity, but there was still work to be done.

Balder stepped back as Matthew pushed his way past, followed closely by Ruby and another boy with bright ginger hair which had been ruffled in every direction. "You can't do this!" Matthew shouted at Thor, and Balder winced as he heard the desperation in the child's voice. "Mr. Hemming is a friend to all of us kids, he's a part of Storybrooke. You can't just take him away!"

"He must not stay here, young Matthew," Thor replied tiredly. He didn't seem to have a trace of the mightiness for which he was named. "Loki is a threat to all, and… and a war criminal, besides. He has to return to Asgard to face justice, and to protect the lives of those he would otherwise harm."

"I thought you wanted to be a good brother," Matthew said quietly, his gaze laden with disappointment.

"I do," Thor cried, "but I also need to be a good king. And sometimes, that means doing what I _desperately_ don't want to do."

"And on that point, at least, we can relate."

Everyone turned sharply. Seated on the steps of the town hall was Loki, and who knew how he had gotten there without being noticed. Something in the Jotun's face was less than terrible, but it was terrible to see there. He rose to his feet and looked across the mostly abandoned clearing at Thor, disguising his panicked breathing almost perfectly.

Matthew's face had turned pale. "No," he whispered, voice cracking. "No, you're not supposed to _be_ here. You weren't supposed to come."

* * *

Loki's entire body trembled, and he forced himself not to bolt as the Asgardians and remaining Storybrooke dwellers turned to bring him into view. Fandral drew his sword, and David emptied his shoulder holster of its weapon as well. Even Balder had come to hunt him down. Towering over all, magnificent and terrible, was his brother. No, not brother. Loki had lost the worthiness of such an association a long time ago.

He thought he was looking at Odin for a moment. The Thunderer stared back at Loki with an expression he couldn't quite understand, not uttering a word. Those around Thor were plainly apprehensive, and Loki didn't blame them.

Loki deliberately walked towards Thor, one step after another, and to his surprise the Æsir mirrored him. They met, face to face. Loki remembered how they would have stare-downs as children, and how he would always let Thor win. He let him win again now, but only for a moment. They both needed to be looking at each other for this.

"We need to talk," Loki stated. It was simple, ridiculously simple, but for a change it was all he could think of to say. Hopefully it would be enough.

Thor's expression was solemn. "We do," he agreed.

The two men fell in step beside each other, star and shadow, and they turned away from all others. "Thor," David called in alarm. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Thor looked back, and his head dipped in a silent nod. Volstagg nodded back, trusting Thor's decision. Mortals and Æsir stayed back as Thor and Loki rounded the corner of the town hall, passing beyond sight and hearing.

Matthew was practically vibrating in his struggle to keep from chasing after the two. He turned away abruptly, using a sharp wave to call Jackson over. Together they began walk away from the town hall, the set to Matthew's face grim.

"Matthew, Jackson, where are you going?" Ruby asked, stepping forward to follow them.

Matthew glanced back at her over his shoulder, brows lowered. "Getting backup," he answered. "I'm not leaving Mr. Hemming to his fate, I'm a better friend than that."

"We both are," Jackson added. "Us boys don't abandon our own."

"Neither do us ladies," Ruby replied, and joined them. The trio set out, Matthew leading the way. Balder watched them go, hoping that whatever backup Matthew sought would prove to be enough.

Loki brought himself and Thor to a wide, grassy lawn devoid of occupation other than themselves. His fingers brushed over the rough bark of a lone apple tree, and he bounced on his toes. "I don't know what I should say first," he admitted with a nervous laugh, turning to look at Thor.

Thor looked back at him. His face was achingly somber, lacking the sunniness that Loki had grown up with. "Unusual, considering you're the master of words among us," he remarked quietly. Too quietly for someone like the Mighty Thor.

"There are some things that no amount of mastery can aid," Loki answered. He felt too anxious to allow himself to sit down, so he held his feet stiffly in place, his palm still pressed against the grooves of the apple tree. "But I suppose it is best that I start," he acquiesced, a layer of hardness entering his eyes. "Most people put their foot in their mouth, Thor. Not so long ago you managed to insert an entire shoe store."

Loki realized too late that Thor was not familiar with the idiom he had just tampered with, but the man he had once believed was his brother grasped the meaning of it quickly. To Loki's surprise, Thor's head bowed in shame. "I am so, so sorry, Loki," he apologized. "My rage is something I struggle with still, and I unleashed it on you. It is the worst among many crimes I have committed against you."

"You don't have to apologize, Thor," Loki said, feeling disturbed that the repentant words had come so easily to Thor's lips. "I'm the villain here, remember."

Thor gave him a shocked look. Loki realized that before he had come to Storybrooke, he never would have said anything like that. Thor's expression changed, then, his stare turning to intense scrutiny. "Are you the villain, though?" he questioned. "I think you'll find that neither of our hands are unsoiled.

"We've both changed, haven't we?" Loki recognized the sense of comprehension, a feeling he hadn't been familiar with since his centuries as a pupil. "When did that happen?" he murmured to himself.

"For me, I suppose it began when a very intelligent younger brother of mine cleverly convinced me to go to Jotunheim, and although it wasn't his wish, got me banished in the process," Thor recalled, giving Loki a look that was pointed and yet full of admiration. Loki was bewildered. "There's something about believing you can't go home that makes you think of things differently. You've made me a better man, Loki."

"And for me, it was when I found myself in a place where I didn't belong, and I wounded a child's soul and being," Loki responded, his features despondent. His legs folded and he sat down, spine pressing uncomfortably again the apple tree's trunk. "But… he turned around and loved me instead. No one has _ever_ done that for me, Thor. Not in all my years."

"I'm sorry," Thor whispered. Was he crying? Loki didn't know what he thought of that. A mere day ago he would have been viciously pleased.

"I keep telling you, Thor, you don't have to apologize," Loki said impatiently, his eyes narrowing into a brief glare before his gaze lowered and he sighed. "I'm the one who has brought all this pain down on everybody."

"After centuries of me pushing and prodding and pulling at your heart in ways that no brother should have to endure," Thor pointed out. He shook his head in astonishment. "Why did you stay with me, Loki, when you knew my selfishness ran deeper than Svartalfheim's tunnels?"

"Because I knew that without me, you would get yourself and your friends killed," Loki answered wryly. "You were all great warriors, Thor, but your survival skills weren't exactly admirable. Sif and Hogun I had to teach the finer points of tracking, and even then it was only Hogun who truly understood. Fandral still burns the meat when he cooks, doesn't he?"

Thor's laugh was answer enough. "We were all so full of ourselves and our glory, and yet you were the only one who seemed to realize just how hapless we were," he chuckled.

"How many decades did it take for me to convince you five that archery was a necessary form for warriors to learn?" Loki wondered. He shook his head in exasperation. "I was your secret mentor, and you my unwilling students."

A soft laugh was shared between them, but then it was back into silence they went. Thor sat down across from Loki, absently plucking at blades of grass. "What are we going to do, Loki?" Thor seemed to be honestly asking Loki's opinion, and the Trickster again found himself confused.

"What else is there to do?" he returned. "I must serve justice—here, on Asgard, on Jotunheim. I'm forbidden from this realm, and I know Jotunheim shan't be the first stop, so by logic, it would be Asgard you take me to first. I know you have the shackles with you, Thor. I heard the chains while you were walking."

Thor blinked. Of all things he had expected, it certainly wasn't this. "You… you are not angry?" he stammered.

Loki shook his head, for the first time noticing just how _tired_ he was, of everything. "My anger is spent, Thor. I shall not fight," he promised. His mouth was dry. He swallowed, catching the first tremors of fear through his body, and curses he was crying again. He looked away from Thor. "I'm… I'm ready to go back."

His breath sucked in between his teeth as Thor's hand pressed gently against his face, warm and strong. The Asgardian turned Loki's head and differently shaded blues looked into each other. "Are you sure, Loki?" Thor asked. Something twisted inside of Loki as he realized that, this time, Thor was willing to let him go. _Why?_

His frightened gaze held Thor's solemn one, breath shaking through his nostrils. "I shall not fight," he barely managed to whisper, and he stood up and offered his bare wrists. Thor's eyes widened—he had not believed Loki would ever surrender himself—and he slowly withdrew the shackles. The silver chains shook out the music of despair, and Loki tried not to shudder.

He thought of the first day when Thor had fastened these very shackles upon him, accompanied then by a muzzle. He thought of the overwhelming sense of entrapment and fear that had nearly driven him out of his head, and he felt those things again now. But he would not fight back, he _would not_, no matter how desperately his fractured soul screamed for it.

A tiny cry escaped him as the shackles clapped around his wrists, sealing his fate. His eyes grew ever wider, the fear in them tangible, and he found himself searching Thor's gaze for a sign that this choice wasn't going to destroy him. He tried to be brave, he had to be brave, no matter how useless the concept was.

"Oh, Loki." Loki stiffened as Thor enveloped him in a hug, a whisper of chill wrapped up in all the warmth of the sun. "It's going to be alright," Thor promised, whispering into Loki's ear. His hand stroked the Jotun's raven locks, and Loki was stunned that the Thunderer had become so gentle. "It's going to be alright, Loki, you'll see. I'm going to keep you safe."

Loki wanted nothing more than to give up, to hide in this mountain that he _wished_ he could still call his brother. But he couldn't. This wasn't over yet. He pulled away, trying to still his shaking body, and looked up at Thor. "Let us finish this, Thor," he said.

Thor nodded, somber. "Let us," he agreed. Together they turned and walked back to the front of the town hall. The search parties had returned, likely having been informed of Loki's whereabouts by David. Loki swallowed nervously.

He saw the crowd shying away from a slight-statured man whose wispy hair was beginning to gray at the temples. Mr. Gold, watching Loki with dark eyes and the hints of his removed smile. Loki wanted to lunge across the distance and stab him through, but no, he was not that Loki anymore. He would not allow himself to be the image of Death any longer.

Even Regina had come to see him brought low. Loki hoped something unfortunate happened to the witch, since he wouldn't be able to bring it about himself.

He stumbled back in alarm when Matthew came leaping in front of him, a child between warring gods. His lips were pulled back to reveal an almost animal snarl, and he shouted furiously at Thor, "You can't have him!"


	24. Chapter 23

_**Author's notes:** Matthew, Loki, will you _please_ stop making me cry? No? ...okay._

_I would like to take a moment for a shoutout to thesilentstars. Thank you so much for the many reviews, they have been lovely and inspiring and have just made me love writing this story all the more. My only disappointment is that I am unable to reply to each and every one of them. Again, my deepest thanks to you! ^_^  
_

**_Warnings:_**_ like I even need to warn you guys about the feels anymore.  
_

* * *

"_Matthew?_" Loki's heart stopped, his eyes stretched wide in astonishment. This was not supposed to happen, what did the boy think he was doing— "Matthew," Loki said his friend's name again, gaze flicking nervously between the frail mortal and Thor as he placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Coming to my aid is a kind sentiment, but you must step aside."

"Like heck I must!" Matthew snapped, shrugging off Loki's hand. There was a ferocity burning in his eyes, a drive to protect that would have done the wolves who raised him proud. "I'm your friend, Mr. Hemming. This is what friends do."

"No, Matthew—"

"He's right!" Jackson cried, jumping down from the notifications board he had somehow scaled. He weaved through the crowd of adults without effort, feet barely touching the ground. "This _is_ what friends do!"

As though the Neverland boy's words were some rallying cry, children came pouring in from all directions and surrounded Loki, pulling him further away from Thor. Loki had absolutely no idea what to do. It was true that the Æsir could easily thrust the children aside, but humans were fragile, and their young offspring even more so. Loki's thoughts turned frantic as he remembered the short length of Thor's patience in the past. Could patience be one of the Thunderer's many new virtues?

Parents tried to rush in and pull their children away, but the other Asgardians and the more informed Storybrookers worked together to hold them back. People seemed to shy away from Ruby on reflex. The best choice now was to give the situation as much space as possible, and wait to see how things would play out.

No one approached Mr. Gold, and he made no attempt to interfere, his brown eyes observing events with cool and well-feigned disinterest. His knuckles were too white as he gripped his gently settled cane.

"Well, I'll be," Fandral murmured to Volstagg, his eyebrows lifting in bemusement. Volstagg smiled a little, for he was not surprised. Lillian wasn't, either. She already knew that for the children, Tom would do anything. Now as a result, for Tom the children would do anything. An amazed smile spread across Balder's face. The fenced-in parents stirred fearfully, uncertain as to how this would end.

Thor seemed to be just as stunned as his erstwhile brother. "Loki?" he asked, giving the Jotun a questioning look. Loki didn't appear to even see him, staring down at Matthew in confusion.

"W-Why are you doing this, Matthew?" he stammered. He honestly couldn't comprehend the logic behind the boy's actions. "I don't understand."

Matthew smiled kindly. "Which is why you need us," he told Loki. The children murmured or yelled their agreement, though most were quiet. They could see the tense faces of the adults surrounding them, and the gravity of their situation was beginning to descend. Matthew turned away from Loki and shouted to the masters of Storybrooke. "Mr. Hemming is not a villain! What does it matter who he _was?_ We know who he _is!_"

"Matthew." David spoke gently as he came forward, his expression almost pitying. Loki had a notion that Matthew would have no tolerance for pity at this time. "Listen, I know it may seem like that…"

"That's because it _is_ like that," Ruby said firmly, coming to Matthew's defense and shocking Loki all the more. What had _happened_ while Loki and Thor were talking? "No offense, David, but you don't know Loki or Tom."

"Preach it, Miss Ruby," Jackson grunted, folding his arms as he nodded approval.

"Did I accidentally poison myself?" Loki muttered to himself wonderingly. Eliza, standing under his left hand, giggled at him and affectionately informed the Trickster how weird he was.

Thor seemed at loss. All the Æsir did, with the curious exceptions of Volstagg and Balder. Ruby looked across the space at Loki, and he realized that she was still right, he did know what to do. Even if everyone else didn't. Even if _she_ didn't. "No, Matthew," Loki said quietly. His gaze dropped to the little ones gathered around him, none of them yet thirteen. "You all must leave."

Matthew's head turned sharply and he hesitated, fingers still clenched in a tight fist as he looked up at Loki questioningly. For a moment Loki wanted to tell him to never mind, that he didn't have anything to say anyhow, but this was something he had to do.

"Matthew," Loki said painfully. "I have to go."

"You don't have to do anything!" Matthew exclaimed angrily. His dark eyebrows had drawn close together, completing an expression of righteous wrath. Loki noticed Jackson a little further back, a look upon his face that was identical to Thor's whenever the Thunderer was about to charge into battle against a being who had done something truly despicable.

"Ssh." Loki crouched and his finger pressed against Matthew's lips, begging them to stay closed. "Please listen to me." This was hard. Loki had never done anything so hard as looking his beloved boy in the eye and telling him that he had to release Loki to his fate. But he had to. "Matthew," Loki started, his voice quavering. "You have to let me go."

Eliza's grip on Loki's left hand tightened. Loki's first tears escaped he gently pulled himself away. He stayed down at the children's level, gazing into swimming eyes, touching faces. Older folk tended to underestimate a child's ability to understand, but Loki knew better. The children understood that this was goodbye, he was letting them go, and now it was time for them to do the same. He wished he could hug them, comfort them somehow, but he couldn't with his wrists chained together. "You all have to let me go."

"No," Matthew said fiercely, and his determination was echoed by the rest of the children. They might have understood, but they weren't going to surrender. "I'm not letting them take you!"

"They're not taking me. I'm going with them of my own accord. And they're not the bad guys, Matthew." The Silvertongue felt like lead. Such hard, _hard_ words to force out. "I am."

"Shut up," Jackson said sharply, and Loki blinked at him in momentary surprise. The look on the freckled boy's face was uncompromising. "You're a better guy than you think you are, Mr. Hemming. And you're pretty darned decent, for a grownup."

"You _were_ the bad guy, but not anymore," Matthew insisted. Jackson nodded terse agreement. "You're Mr. Hemming! Bookcases, pancakes and waffles, soccer after school. My best friend."

"I have murdered _hundreds _of children just like you!" Loki shouted, a sob tingeing his words. The young mortals flinched back, startled by the former assistant librarian's uncustomary volume. A panicked cry rose up from the parents, and there was struggling as they were held back again. "Just like you, Matthew. Please, stay away from me."

The children exchanged uncertain looks, traces of fear darkening their features. Loki hated to see them frightened, but if fear of him was what it took to protect them, then that was how it would have to be. The anxious noise among the parents escalated.

Matthew remained resolute, and Loki could not comprehend the boy's calmness. "You're not going to hurt me, Mr. Hemming," he said certainly. "You're not that guy anymore."

"I hurt everyone who touches me, Matthew," Loki choked. He couldn't stop crying, and now the little ones had their own tears, staining soft young faces. He stood up and gestured frantically to Balder and Thor. "I killed my own brothers! I tried to kill you."

"But we only crossed Death's threshold temporarily," Balder added helpfully. "You also saved my life and made Thor realize that the Nine Realms do not, in fact, revolve around him." Thor chuckled with some embarrassment, reminding everyone else that he was still there. Why did he stand by to wait?

Loki gave Balder an incredulous look, wondering just whose side the young Asgardian was on. "Still!" he cried. "I murdered you both, and what had you ever done against me? No, I am a monster, a beast, a creature of darkness who turns on anyone and everyone." He didn't see Thor's stricken look as he uttered the words.

Ruby frowned, giving him a look. "Tom, we already went over this."

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but yelped in surprise instead. He looked down at Eliza, who had just kicked him in the shin.

"You're the nicest man I know, you silly," she scolded him, waggling a finger before she giggled. "Except for Daddy, of course."

"Better than some daddies," Matthew added in a murmur. He seemed to gather courage and kept going. "You're no monster, Mr. Hemming, and nothing will ever make me think you are. Monsters don't _care_. That's what makes them monsters. You do care, you care a _lot._ That's why we love you, Mr. Hemming, and that's why we're doing this: because we won't be parted from you."

He took Loki's hands in his, not seeming to care for how much blood they had spilled. "You saved my life, Mr. Hemming," he said matter-of-factly. "You saved Mr. Balder's. Don't you get it? I _need_ you. I need you so badly it hurts. And if I lost you… I'd die inside. It would break me worse than anything ever has."

Silence. Utter silence. Loki's throat worked, but he could force no sound to come forth. Balder came to Thor's side and the two Odinsons exchanged glances. "You see it, too," Balder stated. Thor nodded in wordless affirmation.

Loki shook his head, eyes closed tight. "No, Matthew," he whispered. "No."

"He's not the only one," Thor added softly, and Loki gave him a startled look. "I need you, too. I always have. It was always you who was wiser, Loki. So many would speak of how I was the picture of our father: tall, strong, fearless in battle."

"Golden," Loki muttered, feeling some of his old bitterness reawaken. Matthew tightened his grip on his hands. Jackson was watching Thor carefully.

"Yet, if I was the picture of Father, you were his essence," Thor continued. Loki's expression was disbelieving. "Whenever you spoke in earnest, or in reason, I could hear Father's wisdom in your words, Mother's grace. I remember how it would drive me mad. You were so much more like our great parents than I could ever be, and my envy rivaled my arrogance."

"E-envy?" Loki repeated skeptically. How could Thor, the mighty prince of Asgard, have envy for someone like Loki?

"You were always right," Thor said, a hint of rue to his voice. "And even on those times when you were wrong, you somehow always managed to turn it around for good. I envied that with only your tongue and some extra time, you could accomplish the same or better than I with my friends and weapons. Even bloodshed you could avoid, though that made you no less of a warrior. A selfish part of me was relieved that I was the eldest brother, otherwise I never would have stood a chance to outshine you."

Loki could think of nothing to say. He silently fretted at his cuff, unable to look at Thor. The links of chain clinked against each other. "A star never has difficulty in outshining the moon," he replied quietly.

"I have always thought too briefly," Thor said in distress. "That is what led me to hurt you earlier today. You wanted to prove yourself a new man, brother, and I jumped to horrid conclusions. For that, I beg your forgiveness."

"What is the point of this?" Loki demanded, his voice and eyes sharpening as he snapped up to his full height. "I keep telling you to stop apologizing, Thor."

Balder laughed, drawing Thor and Loki's quizzical stares. "And they say I'm the masochist," he remarked. "You are quite stiff-necked when it comes to being hated, Loki. Do you _enjoy_ being held in such animosity? Because I can tell you, it is misery on this side." Loki had no answer.

Loki didn't notice Jackson's signal to the children, only that the miniature army surrounding him was now stepping aside. The ex-sorcerer's face transformed into an expression of complete astonishment as Thor came rushing forward, seizing Loki in a fierce hug that lifted his feet from the ground. It was without abandon, not like the comforting hug from before, but the crushing embrace of two long-separated souls finally reunited. Balder looked surprised, too, but unmistakably pleased. "It is so good to see you again at last, brother," said Thor, his voice intense with emotion.

A wide grin appeared on Fandral's face as he grasped what had just happened. "That's Loki!" he exclaimed to Volstagg, and laughed. A beaming smile stretched from Volstagg's left ear to his right. "That's Loki," he agreed, his eyes soft. "He's back."

"I don't understand," Loki said for the second time that afternoon, his voice pathetically small.

"Perhaps this will make things a little clearer," Thor replied. He unlocked the shackles and dropped them to the ground, where the heel of his boot ground them into dust. The Æsir gave his frightened little brother the gentlest of looks. "I came here hunting a terrible villain who had to be brought to justice, and I found my dear brother instead," he said, his eyes soft with fondness. "Whatever this Curse has taken from you, Loki, it has returned more."

"Much more," Matthew added.

"I take you not to Asgard as my prisoner," Thor told Loki, placing his hands on Loki's shoulders. The Jotun didn't shake them off and Thor released a quiet and broken laugh. "Welcome back, brother."

There was an astounded atmosphere enshrouding Storybrooke's town hall. David, Mary Margaret, and Emma exchanged glances that said they had clearly been missing something the entire time. Mary Margaret took one look at Ruby, the sheer delight and relief on her best friend's face, and decided that if Ruby was happy about this turn of events, then it was good enough for her. Her hand slipped into David's, and a smile eased the features that had been so taut for the past day. This… this was good.

The children calmly rejoined their parents, tolerating with varying levels of patience the fretting that was immediately bestowed. Only a few were still standing close to Thor and Loki, including Matthew and Jackson. Two smaller boys, identical in appearance, approached Jackson from behind and took him by surprise. A crushing hug followed, three friends joyfully reunited without a word needed.

No one noticed Mr. Gold turn away and silently slip from sight, his lips curved slightly upward in satisfaction. It was always pleasant when things turned out as he desired, without requiring his involvement. That wouldn't make Loki so suspicious, and considering the sorcerer prince's current hostility towards him, the less suspicion the better.

"But I'm not your brother," Loki answered Thor sadly, his head bowing in shame as his shoulders sagged. "I'm not worthy to be your brother."

"Be silent, you little goat," Thor growled, yet still he smiled. "Family is not a question of worthiness. If that were the case, I would have been cast out a _long_ time ago, brother." Loki opened his mouth to object again, and Thor overrode him firmly. "_Brother._"

"It doesn't matter how much I've changed," Loki said quietly, certain to his fate. Though the shackles were gone, it still felt like they were there, phantoms of a promised imprisonment. "That is how it has always been in Asgard's laws, and ever shall it be. I must pay penance."

Thor pointed to the crushed chains. "Must you?" he questioned. "Return to Asgard as its prince, Loki, not its prisoner."

"Thor, I must pay for what I have done," Loki protested. Didn't Asgard's future king _understand?_

"No, you don't." Thor's expression was ridiculously stubborn. And pleased, of all things.

"Odin will be furious," Loki said fearfully. "You can't defy his command—"

"Who said it was _his_ command?" Thor responded, and Loki gave him a bewildered look. "I came out here of my accord, under my own admittedly weak plan." He chuckled. "To that, the others can testify. I chose this pursuit and I, with great gladness, abandon it."

"Last time you stood up to Odin, you got yourself banished," Loki pointed out. "And there is yet a real brother to fill your place."

"Tom Hemming, are you _really_ trying to convince your big brother to take you to prison?" Loki turned and saw Lillian. His former employer lifted both eyebrows at him, lips pulling up as amusement shone in her eyes. "One would think that it was you who got hit in the head with a rock."

"You're staying, Mr. Hemming, just deal with it," Matthew advised. He looked up at Thor expectantly, slight anxiety creasing his features. "Right?"

Thor hesitated. Loki hesitated. Even if he wasn't to be taken to Asgard, Midgard was hardly a place where he could be welcome. "Matthew, Storybrooke doesn't want someone like me—"

"But _I _want someone like you!" Matthew said hotly.

"Me too," Ruby chimed in, and soon Loki was drowning in _me three, four, five, eleven, fourteen, twenty,_ and one very enthusiastic _seventy-two billion!_ Jackson, of course.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point," Loki said, shaking his head with a laugh. Thor hadn't seen him smile like that since… actually, since ever. These children, these mortals of Storybrooke, had laid claim to a part of Loki's heart that Thor had never known to exist. He felt almost jealous. But there was no place for that emotion here.

"You need to be here, brother," Thor agreed with the friends of Loki, his voice gentle but strained. Moments ago Loki had been telling the children that they needed to let him go, but the opposite was true. Thor had to let Loki go. "I cannot take an innocent man to his doom. I would never be at rest, knowing that our home has become a prison to you. That is wrongness to the very core. You are loved in this place, more than you have ever been on Asgard."

Thor saw Loki's lips shape around the word _love_. No doubt it had become an estranged thing for him over the centuries, much due to Thor's ignorant old ways. The Trickster's eyes were hopeful, yet still they were full of doubt. "But if I do not suffer, surely Asgard will be in outrage," he said uncertainly.

"Bother Asgard!" Thor exclaimed, surprising Loki. "The decision is final, brother—you are staying here in Storybrooke."

"Alright!" Matthew cheered, his arms punching the air victoriously. He turned to Jackson and slapped a loud high-five. Cries of triumph resounded from the young, ringing in Loki's ears, and however long he lived, that sound would never be forgotten. The feeling that the shackles were still present died away at last.

"Thor…" Loki stood trembling, as he had been when he surrendered to the Thunderer not so long ago. He felt so small, so fragile, such a child. And maybe, for the first time, that was alright. "Thank you. I don't deserve this."

"Yes, you do deserve this," Thor told him. He smiled into Loki's eyes, tears shining in his own. "I admire you, brother. Somehow, you have found your way back onto the right path. I look forward to the day you are welcomed back to Asgard as a prince of great honor."

Neither one nor the other led the movement, but the next moment Thor and Loki had slammed into each other, Æsir and Jotun joining in an embrace they had been missing for longer than either cared to admit. Loki felt a sob building up but settled on silent tears instead, burying his face in Thor's golden mane. Tears mixed with shining locks.

They stood there for a long time, and though not a sound was made, Loki felt that he communicated more with Thor than he had in the centuries they had run alongside. Thor felt the same. A different hand rested against Loki's shoulder, and as he turned away from Thor, Loki was pulled into a near bone-crushing hug from Balder.

"Thanks, by the way," Balder said as he smirked mischievously at the panting Loki. "I would be dead today if it weren't for you, and I never got the opportunity to express my gratitude."

"Don't make me regret it," Loki huffed, but Thor and Balder both grinned as they recognized their sibling's trademark sarcasm.

"So," Thor said brightly. "I suppose you can show us around your town now, Loki."

Balder caught his Loki's slight balk. "Mm, probably when the town is somewhat more _intact,_" he suggested quickly. Loki gave him a grateful nod, and Balder inclined his chin in a nod.

Lillian somehow managed to convince Matthew and Jackson to give the Odinsons some space, and Julia decided to wait before rejoining her husband. "I appreciate the interest, Thor," Loki said honestly. "But I… This is overwhelming, I must admit. I did not plan for such an outcome."

"I hoped for it," Thor and Balder said in unison. They shared grins. Loki wondered at what must have happened in the time that they had journeyed together.

"I need time," Loki confessed softly. His expression was distressed; he prayed silently that Thor and Balder would understand what he was trying to ask. "I'm shocked that I even _have_ a town to call my own. A home. Brothers. It is… much." He had been homeless for so long, longer than anyone else here knew, and he was having trouble realizing that this was a place where he _belonged,_ although at first he had been so afraid to accept it. Acceptance was always the precursor to rejection, in his experience.

"You must sort out where you are now, before you reconcile your past with your present," Thor said with a nod. He understood, and Loki's heart lightened with the relief of it. Balder nodded as well, smiling a little, indicating with the simple gesture that he supported Loki's request also.

Julia seemed to believe that she had hung back for long enough, coming to step in by her husband's side. Her and Balder's fingers interlaced, fitting perfectly into each other as they were meant to. Loki would have expected to be ill at ease with her presence, but somehow that was not the case.

"Julia and I are going to return home," Balder told his brothers. He and his wife gazed into each other's eyes, smiling. "We have much to catch up on, and a baby to prepare for. We will not be coming with you, Thor. The barrier around the town keeps Julia here, and I will not be separated from my wife again."

"The barrier!" Thor exclaimed as something occurred to him. He turned an almost horrified look on Loki. "If we had chosen to take you with us, crossing the town border would have erased your memories."

"I would not be so sure," Loki answered, a wry attitude curving his lips upward. "My relationship with rules has never been what it ought."

"That's never been in doubt," Balder snorted, an affectionate chuckle in his words. He released Julia's hand to wrap Loki in a second hug, less crushing than the last. "I shall be seeing you, Loki," he promised, and swiftly added, "When you are ready."

Loki nodded in appreciation of his younger brother's consideration. The Æsir's extended time with the briefly-lived mortals had given him much more wisdom than an Asgardian his age typically had. Balder and Julia switched places, now hugging Thor and Loki, respectively.

"I cannot thank you enough for all of your help, Balder," Thor said sincerely. Loki smiled as Balder and Julia took each other's hands again. "You risked so much for my own selfish sake. I look forward to the day you return to Asgard, even if only for a short while." He beamed. "Perhaps even more so I look forward to the arrival of my niece."

Loki's eyebrows lifted as he remembered his own connection to the child Julia nurtured within, and from behind Thor he gave Balder a double thumbs-up. Such a Midgardian gesture, but it seemed fitting for the moment. Julia's eyes sparkled with amusement, laughing silently. She was definitely her mother's daughter.

"Ah, so you're off?" Fandral said to Balder as he and the rest of the Warriors Three joined them. Nearly all of the Storybrookers had dissipated as the three Odinsons conversed, only a few families and friends to Loki remaining. Jackson had flitted off to parts unknown. Fandral and Balder clasped arms, flashing broad smiles at each other. "It has been an honor, good sir, to travel alongside the brother of Thor," Fandral declared grandly.

"I have a name, you know," Balder said grumpily, giving the Asgardian a sour look. Julia winced, perhaps recalling the bitterness with which Balder had spoken of the days he had been constantly overlooked.

"Yes, of course, Boulder—I mean Balder," Fandral stammered with extra glamour. Balder cracked a grin, and Julia relaxed as she saw for herself that something had changed in her husband in the years they had been separated.

"Well, so long as you deign from calling me Balder the Boulder, or Boulder the Balder, Fandral, I think I may yet find it in my heart to forgive you," Balder said, polishing his manner with extra grandeur.

"That sounds a most suitable deal to me," Fandral stated. He and Balder shook hands on it, somehow maintaining a businesslike exterior. Volstagg was chortling, and a slight smile pulled Loki's lips upward.

Balder turned and called to Sif, who was standing apart from the group, and gestured for her to come over. She hesitated before doing so, glancing over at Loki as though she expected him to attack her. Curiously enough, he felt none of the anger that he had before when she had first confessed of her actions against him.

"Thor told me what you did, in battle against the wraith," Balder informed Sif. Loki's eyes widened slightly as he put it together: the wraith's sudden absence, the partial demolishment of the town hall, and the slightly battered states of the Asgardians. He should have done more to frighten the soul eater away.

Sif nodded, but Loki noticed that it was more in acknowledgment of her deeds than it was claiming glory for them. Thor wasn't the only one who had changed. "Thank you, Balder," she said humbly. "For giving me a second chance."

"Thank you, Sif," Balder returned, and Sif looked confused. "For proving yourself worthy of that chance."

Again Sif nodded, still with humility. Balder and Julia exchanged glances. "Shall we away, my dear?" Balder asked.

Julia smiled back at him. "I think now would be a good time," she agreed. Together they turned and walked home, already whispering secrets between each other.

"Balder's wife," Loki remarked as he watched them go. He nodded approval. "She's pretty hot."

Thor laughed. "I see you already have a firm grasp on Midgardian terminology, brother," he observed.

"I suppose a curse can qualify as a crash course," Loki mused. He shook his head lightly, waving his hand in a manner similar to a shrug. "Hard to believe that this all started with a simple escape and a stolen apple."

"Yes, where is that apple, anyway?" Thor asked. "Idunn _really_ wants it back."

"Rumplestiltskin has it," Loki answered, and this time shrugged in full. "So, if you want to go get it…"

The Asgardians exchanged reluctant looks. "Aye, better not," Thor decided. "There isn't much that a foreign sorcerer can do with one apple, besides."

Loki chose not to mention that it was the most potent apple in Idunn's orchard, and that he had taught Rumplestiltskin a thing or two about Æsir magic. Thor needed his sleep, after all. The group fell silent, and for some reason Loki found his gaze drawn to Sif. The woman looked absurdly pensive, and Loki was fully aware that he was the cause of it.

"I'm not angry at you, Sif," he told her, and the look she gave him was skeptical. "Certainly I was before, but in case you haven't noticed, I am a few shades more reasonable now. What you did many shall call treason, I suppose, since Asgard still considers me to be royalty for some bizarre reason, but in truth? That treason saved my life. So I am thanking you instead." He bent his slender frame in a bow. "Thank you."

Sif's expression was partially relieved but mostly suspicious. She hadn't bought Loki's transformation just yet and frankly, neither had Loki. They traded respectful nods and stopped paying direct attention to each other.

"I suppose it is time for us to go," Thor said, bearing no hint of enthusiasm. The other Æsir nodded agreement with the prince's statement.

"Where's Fandral?" Volstagg wondered, looking around.

They spotted the younger Asgardian over with David, engaged in conversation. David wore a patient smile as he endured Fandral's chatter. "…as I was saying, keeping a mustache is a very serious affair," the dashing warrior continued. "But you'll find that the benefits far outweigh any inconveniences. If you need any advice on the care of your mustache, just send a holler up to Heimdall the All-Seeing and he'll be sure to let me know."

"Thanks for the suggestion, I'll definitely be thinking about it," David answered politely. His brow furrowed. "Wait, Heimdall the what?"

"Time to go, Fandral!" Volstagg exclaimed cheerfully, grabbing the youngest Warrior by the elbow and hauling him away. Fandral managed to shout out a few more mustache tips to David before resigning himself to the fact that they were now out of range. David gave his wife a bemused look and, to her credit, Mary Margaret managed not to laugh.

The Warriors Three mounted their horses, which it turned out they had brought with them to town hall, and Sif swung up in the saddle of her own steed. Skjótr tossed his head in an almost disdainful manner and trotted off in the same direction Balder and Julia had gone. Balder must have known that his horse would follow eventually—there was no doubt that Skjótr was an intelligent beast.

Thor hesitated, his hand loosely holding Sigr's bridle. The other Asgardians seemed to catch his unspoken cue, and together the four turned their horses around and rode away, deciding to wait somewhere else for the Thunderer to join them.

"What was lost has been found, Loki," Thor murmured, half to himself, half to his sibling. Sigr tugged his head back some from Thor's hold on his bridle, and Thor let him go. The stallion clipped away and found a suitable patch of grass.

"What was lost has found himself," Loki returned quietly. He wasn't sure if he should convince Thor to turn around, or let the Asgardian do it himself. It turned out the latter was the correct choice. Thor faced Loki now, and the two men locked eyes.

"I hadn't realized one could be so happy, and yet so sad," Thor confessed in a low voice. His frown was carved too deep for someone who laughed so much. "I have found again the brother I have missed for so long, and yet I now have to walk away."

"You'll come back," Loki said, trying to comfort the obviously distressed Æsir. His fingers twisted nervously.

"It's still hard," Thor replied, his words soft. Loki found himself stepping forward and wrapping Thor up in _his_ arms for a change, just the same as he did for Matthew. Thor hesitated briefly, he was obviously startled by Loki's action, but then he reciprocated the movement.

"Thank you, Thor," Loki whispered into his brother's ear. He wanted to say so much more, everything more, but _thank you_ said more than he ever had before.

Thor whispered something else back but Loki would never be entirely sure what it was. The Thunderer pulled away and called for Sigr. The white stallion heeded his master's call and raced to where Thor stood. The horse was eager to travel again. Thor was soon seated in the ornate saddle, looking down at Loki with a solemn expression. Loki suddenly became aware of the fact that there were tears in his eyes.

Thor's face split open abruptly with a wide smile, bright as the sun, and Loki was prompted to smile back, a weak reflection. One brother went to his fellows while the still-wandering other watched him go. They raised their hands to each other in farewell, the first fond one they had shared in many years, and saw each other no more. Loki stood watching as the Bifrost ignited the air a few minutes later and took the Asgardians home. He was still stunned that he was not to be transported with them to his prison.

A second chance. What he had longed for more than anything else and had been too afraid, too proud, to ask for. And now, here it was in his hand. Loki remained unmoving, blinking up at the sky in blank shock. Matthew came to his side and looked up at him.

"You okay, Mr. Hemming?" he asked.

"No," Loki answered in a small voice.

Matthew shook his head with a chuckle. "Amazing what can happen in half an hour, huh?" He took Loki's hand. "Come on, let's go get some waffles."

Ruby smiled, taking the hint. "I'll heat up the griddle," she said, leading the way with her grandmother as others followed, a good number of the kids enthusiastically chanting _Waffles! Waffles!_ Loki hung back at first, still watching the sky as though he were waiting for the Bifrost to open again and scoop him up, but Matthew pulled him away.

* * *

The five Asgardians were one group again, and they slowed as the border came in sight, noticing the black vehicle parked on their side and the small man standing outside of it. The imp was familiar to all of the Æsir by now. The five horses slowed, and Thor cast a suspicious look down at Rumplestiltskin. "What are you doing here, Rumplestiltskin?" he asked. He was careful to keep hostility from his tone; angering the imp could mean trouble for Loki.

"In case you have reservations about Loki, I can assure you that you have made the right decision," Rumplestiltskin said, his words lilting in a softer manner than he had possessed in the days of the crocodile skin. He turned his eyes up to meet Thor's. "He is safer here."

"And he is in more danger beyond this town's borders?" Thor questioned. Sif gave the imp a pointed glare. "With you among this place's residents, Rumplestiltskin, I doubt that."

"I do have Loki's best interests in mind," Rumplestiltskin answered mysteriously. He searched Thor's face for a moment before an expression of surprise entered his craggy features. "He hasn't warned you. You really haven't the slightest idea. Fascinating."

"Warned me of what?" Thor could feel his eyes widen as fear churned in his stomach. "What danger lurks outside of Storybrooke that would dare threaten my brother's life?" The Warriors Three exchanged uneasy looks, beginning to understand that this wasn't as over as they had hoped.

"It isn't his life at stake so much as his death," Rumplestiltskin replied, his words naturally enigmatic. "If he has kept you out of the loop, it is for good reason. Just know this, Thor: Storybrooke is the one place where Loki will be protected from what is otherwise inescapable. Heimdall the All-Seeing cannot see that this place even exists. If Loki is taken beyond this border, his blood will be on your head, Thor."

"My head, or yours?" Thor responded. His friends seemed surprised that he had uttered such words, and Thor was himself, but he meant them entirely.

Rumplestiltskin looked up at him for another moment and gave no answer. Thor reluctantly came to the conclusion that he would learn nothing more from the secretive Dark One, and he and the other Æsir continued on, passing through Storybrooke's barrier. Thor called up to Heimdall and the Bifrost carried them home.

Mr. Gold opened his Cadillac's door and sat down inside, leaving the door open for a moment longer. He sighed, his proud stature sagging. "Mine," he murmured in reply to Thor's question. "His blood will be on my head."


	25. Notification!

**Sorry guys, but there will be no chapter this Monday. You can expect it on Saturday.  
**

Why? Well, there's an Internet blackout from 6am Monday to 6am Tuesday (GMT) in protest of CISPA, and I am participating. Don't know what CISPA is? Educate yourself here: ladyoftheflyingpie dot tumblr dot com /tagged/CISPA

What does CISPA have to do with this little website? Well, basically, CISPA would destroy the Internet as we know and love it. And that would mean all the dear friends I have made here would be no more. This isn't something that just affects the USA... it affects anyone who uses the Internet, anywhere. As I said, check out the link for more information.

This. Is. Serious. I'm freaking out slightly that the bill has made it as far as it has.


	26. Chapter 24

_**Author's notes:** All I am going to say is that this chapter is a nod to the distinctive style of the MCU. And with this, we conclude _Green & Gold. _Whoa. *burrows under a blanket and tries not to have an existential crisis* Just, all my love and gratitude and thanks (wait, gratitude and thanks are sorta the same thing...) to each and every one of you, those who have made this epic journey with me, and those who find this story at whatever times in the future. My heart is full of love and tears and I am **exploding.**  
_

_I am still astonished that this bizarre crossover has become so loved. Like, I'm blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear tears._

_I know that some of you must be asking: but is this really _all?_ And the answer is: _no!_ There are more stories to be told, no doubt. Unfortunately, I won't be able to start writing anything until June. D8 So, for multiple purposes and reasons that would take too long to state here, I've started up a Tumblr blog to keep all things _Green & Gold _centralized. Curious about what's up? Go there. There's art (as in like, art, and then doodles/concept stuff) and rambles and/or cacklings about what's going on. If you have any questions for me (or the characters, Matthew would love to hijack an ask or twenty), just drop 'em on there. Or if you want to have some crazy adventures whilst we await the arrival of _Winter & Hawk_, that's an option too. ;)_

_...and now it occurs to me to give the _address_ of the blog. Duh. loki-of-storybrooke dot tumblr dot com  
_

_**Warnings:** None! All fluffies and anguish here. :)  
_

* * *

_I've got my memories_

_Always inside of me_

_But I can't go back, back to how it was_

_I believe now_

_I've come too far_

_No I can't go back, back to how it was_

_Created for a place I've never known_

_This is home_

**_-Switchfoot, This Is Home_**

* * *

Jackson skipped past Jefferson, of whom he took no notice, and crowed cheerfully upon bursting into Granny's. Finely-dressed Jefferson, however, took a moment to pause and look through the windows of the diner. Granny's was brimming over with activity, the pair of overwhelmed waitresses joined by abrupt volunteers to help manage the sheer amount of customers. The little diner had been missed. Jefferson could see Loki making his way to the counter, the ecstatically chattering boy beside him practically attached to his waist.

Jefferson smiled. "Well done, Prince Loki," he congratulated the man inside, and continued on his way, stepping quickly to the side as he realized he was blocking a slight-statured motorcyclist. The woman arched a sardonic blonde eyebrow at him as she went past.

Jefferson's path didn't take long to cross with Mr. Gold's. "I thought you would've made a scene down there, what with Thor about to take Loki away," the former thief remarked.

"Patience has its rewards, Master Hatter," Mr. Gold answered mildly. Jefferson noticed the small measures of heaviness to the Dark One's tones. He really had spent too much time in the imp's company, to be able to read him this well. "In this case, I didn't have to bring to Thor's attention the fact that if Loki were taken from Storybrooke, he would have lost all the memories that condemned him in the first place, as well as the only existent hiding place in the universe from his master."

"Or that being placed back in the environment of Æsir magic would kill him," Jefferson added. It wasn't just Rumplestiltskin he knew things about. He gave the imp a quizzical look. "Out of curiosity, who _is_ Prince Loki's master?"

"It is never a good idea to speak his true name," Mr. Gold said cautiously. His eyes glittered with something akin to hatred, as though loathing that someone could be powerful enough that merely uttering their name would bring doom. "But some call him the Mad Titan."

* * *

Matthew had yet to detach himself from Loki's waist. "I still can't get over how awesome it is that you're here, okay!" he exclaimed. Loki chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair before looking over at Ruby.

"I'd help with the food, but I would likely detonate the kitchen sooner than I would generate a delicious batch of waffles," he said apologetically. "However, I am happy to help deliver orders to their correct destinations."

Ruby laughed, her smiling lips highlighted red. "No problem, Tom, thanks for the offer," she replied. "Or—"

"Tom," Loki replied quickly. "I'd rather you—yes, Tom."

Ruby nodded. "I'm assuming that you'd like your usual tea, iced?" she queried, jotting the note down. "And waffles seems to be the order of the day, thanks to Matthew." The lad grinned without remorse.

Loki laughed at his antics and promised Matthew that he would return shortly, and gestured for him to take the stool next to the one Loki had chosen. Matthew happily clambered up, politely requesting a cup of hot chocolate to go with his waffles. Tom followed Ruby to lend his aid while he and Matthew awaited their orders.

He had returned to the kitchen for a fifth turn by the time he mustered enough courage to speak. "Ruby." She looked up, brow furrowed slightly in question. "Thank you," Loki said. "For standing up for me earlier. Even though I didn't want it."

"It's what friends are for, Tom," Ruby answered with a smile. "Frankly, I'm still amazed that they're letting you stay."

"As am I," Loki admitted. "Norns know what goes on in Thor's head." Ruby smiled again, the expression in her eyes suggesting that she had some idea about Thor's thinking, and handed him the tray bearing the orders for himself and Matthew. She informed him that he was now on break, and Loki meekly obliged.

When he came back to Matthew, Jackson was currently occupying the Trickster's seat. Loki could see the signs of a long friendship forming between the two. Jackson hopped lightly off the stool as Loki approached, then froze as a short woman wearing the distinctive leather garb of a biker came into the diner.

"Tink!" he shouted, and barreled right into her. She locked his neck in her arm and rubbed her knuckles across his scalp. "Hey, no noogies, no noogies!"

Tink laughed and returned Jackson's hug. "Where've ya been, Peter?" she asked. Jackson kept hugging her as he babbled off an explanation, and what would give anyone the idea that he was crying?

Loki sat down next to Matthew at the counter, rolling the cool flavors of tea around his mouth. He turned his head as someone tapped his shoulder, and almost came eye-to-eye with Lillian. Even sitting, he was still taller. He quickly set down his tea to respond to the warm hug he was suddenly enveloped in.

"You know, Tom, I'm planning to retire soon," Lillian told her former employee after releasing him (but not before a kiss on the cheek. Gosh, it was warm in the diner). "And since the library has gotten its funding back, that will leave the position of librarian open…" She lifted her eyebrows, hoping that Loki would finally catch the hint.

Loki beamed and joyfully accepted the offer. "Alright!" Matthew cheered, slapping a triumphant high five with his friend. "You've got the pad back!" Loki grinned broadly as he curled his fingers back around the cool exterior of his glass.

"There's one thing, though, Mr. Hemming," Matthew said, turning in his seat to face Loki. _Only one?_ Loki nearly quipped. "If the whole reason you got to Storybrooke was because of a deal you made with Rumplestiltskin, _what_ was the deal?"

Loki smiled mysteriously as he sipped his tea. "Ah," he answered, the playful and enigmatic lilt of a Trickster entering his voice, "now that is a story for another time."

"Oh, come on!" Matthew protested.

A mischievous gleam entered Loki's eyes. "Eat those waffles before I do," he threatened, teeth baring in a wicked smile. Matthew exclaimed loudly ("You wouldn't _dare!_") and hurriedly returned to his waffles. Loki took another drink from his tea and let his gaze slide over his town. He laughed and smacked Matthew's hand away when the precocious boy tried to take his waffles. He ate his breakfast, occasionally battling Matthew's fork with his own as they tried to get at each other's food.

Ruby laughed as she joined them with a waffle of her own, remarking on what dorks they were. Loki cheerfully informed her that he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Heimdall's gaze was just as solemn as it had ever been. Thor welcomed the familiarity, and was sure that his friends did as well. Midgard was a wonderful place, but it was ever so strange. Thor was glad to be back home. The younger Asgardians left the ancient gatekeeper's observatory, minds still reeling from all that had occurred. One thing was certain: they hadn't had adventures like this when they were youths.

Odin was waiting for them. He stood regal and terrible upon the Bridge, and Thor shrank a little. There were few people who could make Thor feel small, even less who could make him feel afraid, and Odin was one of them. The Warriors Three and Sif stopped as well, uncertain.

"Where is Loki?" the Allfather asked.

"Father," Thor started, a note of hesitation to his voice. "Allow me to explain…"

"I already know, Thor," Odin replied, and Thor ducked as Hugin and Munin flew over his head. The two ravens settled on either of Odin's shoulders, and Thor understood his father's meaning. His feet remained firmly planted upon the Bifrost, and he was apprehensive, half wondering if this was to be his banishment again.

Yet Odin smiled. "I am proud of your deeds, my son," he assured Thor, though said son did not fail to notice the sadness in his tones. "The time of healing for Loki has at last begun, and in truth, I had not expected its arrival for many years more."

"For Loki, it already has been many years more," Thor answered softly. Odin seemed puzzled by the statement.

The Allfather allowed the Warriors and Sif to pass him. He made no comment on Sif's cropped hair, though surely he knew. The king of Asgard gestured to his son. "Walk with me, Thor," he said. "Tell me of your brothers."

* * *

"PAPA'S HOME!"

Gudrun shook her head with a light chuckle as half a dozen pairs of little feet pounded through the house, shaking the walls and floor. "I never would have guessed," she remarked, rolling the dough underneath her palms with practiced ease. Children seemed to catapult from every nook and cranny of the cozy house, crowding around (and some of them climbing up) their father as he came into the house. Volstagg's booming laugh, fun and exuberant, brought a smile to his wife's face.

"Ah, and how is this fairest of ladies?" Volstagg inquired lovingly, wading through their offspring to give Gudrun a kiss. She returned it happily.

"Story, Father!" Bóthildr cried, her wide eyes pleading. "Oh, _please_, Father, tell us a story!"

"Yes, no more about gardens and birds," Aghi said with a distasteful frown, crossing his arms to complete his appearance of disapproval. Gudrun didn't bother to hide her grin.

"What! You don't like stories about _gardens?_" Volstagg asked of his son incredulously. The boy shook his head emphatically, and Volstagg chuckled. "Well, I must find a way to remedy that somehow. But you wanted a tale, eh? Some story of my latest adventure?"

"YES!"

"Oh, _yes!_"

Volstagg laughed, allowing his beloved brood to drag him over to the much-loved armchair that was meant for him. They pushed him down into the seat, roosting up on the arms of the chair, nestling in his lap, or crowding around his feet. Volstagg smiled, fondling faces or ruffling hair. Then his eyes took on a bright gleam; the time of storytelling had begun.

"I speak nothing but the truth: this adventure is different from any other I have had," he told his children. Their eyes grew round. "We left Asgard on a very important quest, to find Thor's lost brother… and we found two!"

"Two?" the children echoed incredulously.

"Yes indeed. You remember your friend, Prince Loki?"

"Oh, yes!" Bóthildr chirruped. "He thinks of the best games, Father!"

"And he hides treats in the cleverest places," Fólki added. He did have a terrible sweet tooth; it was evident that he took after his father. "When do you think we'll see him again?"

Volstagg hesitated briefly, exchanging looks with Gudrun, but he quickly brightened up again. "I'm not sure yet," he answered. "But the second brother we found is Balder, the youngest Odinson of all. He's not often heard of here on Asgard—he partakes in secret quests, of the utmost importance, braving the greatest of perils with his noble stallion, Skjótr, and his faithful wife, Julia. You'd like him.

"But, finding these two brothers wasn't all we did," Volstagg added with a grin. "In order to get there, we had to outwit the terrible curse of _Stonebreath_, and had to journey to Midgard to break a curse over the minds and souls of an entire town, Loki included!"

He frowned and leaned back with a shrug. "Though, I suppose after your mother's captivating talk of gardens, this doesn't sound interesting at all."

The children frantically clamored for their father to continue, adamant that he wasn't to stop there. Volstagg smiled and readily obliged to their wishes, his eyes frequently meeting Gudrun's across the room.

* * *

Mr. Gold turned the golden apple in his fingers, his expression demure. Belle was not currently with him, else he would not have the object out. An apple, shining, would surely evoke her curiosity. It wasn't like Regina's deep red apples, filled with magic poison. This fruit, once consumed, fed immortality.

Not of much use to the Dark One. Not yet, anyway. There was always a purpose to be found eventually. Mr. Gold locked the apple away in his safe, along with the medallion he had used to summon the wraith, and he waited patiently.

The shop bell rang as the door was pulled open, and Mr. Gold went out to the front. As expected, it was Mr. Frog—the false father to Loki's tagalong friend. Evidently the man had gotten Mr. Gold's message.

"What do you want?" Mr. Frog demanded sourly, his face twisted in an expression of brutish hostility.

Mr. Gold stepped around the counter, bony fingers curled around the cool handle of his cane. His smile was menacing, and quite deliberately so. "Glad you could make it, Mr. Frog," he began, his lip curling in slight distaste. He had no respect for a man who would treat his offspring as this one had. "I would like to talk with you about your son. Matthew, I believe his name is?"

Never let it be said that Mr. Gold didn't look after his friends. In his own strange, quiet, and often violent way.

* * *

Loki whistled happily as he stepped out of the library, going over to the open trunk of Charlene's car—no, Julia's car—with the intent of bringing in the last box of books. Balder got there first, shooting a teasing laugh at Loki before trotting back into the library, planting a kiss on Julia's cheek as he zipped in. She flushed pleasurably and followed him back into the building.

Loki chuckled lightly and closed the trunk, turning to follow his amusing younger brother. He instead found himself stopping as someone called his name, and smiled in greeting as he spotted Paige a short ways down the street. He went to meet her, asking how things were with herself and her rabbits.

"Jeffy started breaking out of his cage this morning, and now _I _have to chase him all over the place!" Paige laughed. "I only have a moment before I need to get to school, but do you have somewhere you can post these?" She handed Loki a stack of papers, copies of a hand drawn portrait. Loki thought the character seemed vaguely familiar. "I'm looking for my dad, so if you know places where these can go, that would be great."

"Certainly," Loki promised with a nod. "I hope you find him, Paige."

"Thanks, and I'm sure I will," Paige stated with confidence. She smiled brightly. "Papa's here, I know it, and he would never stay away." The girl turned and ran to catch her bus. "Have a nice day, Mr. Hemming!"

"And you as well!" Loki called after her. He smiled to himself and walked back towards the library, stopping when he noticed the black briefcase that had been set in front of the library's door. His eyebrows lifted as he picked it up. The briefcase was made of genuine leather. A small card fell loose and Loki picked it up.

_Congratulations on the relocation, Prince Loki. Here's something to get you started. I'm sure you'll know what to do with it._

_—H_

Loki regarded the message with a puzzled expression. He didn't know anyone whose name started with an H. Not anyone who called him Prince Loki, anyway. He carefully tucked the card into his jacket pocket and opened the briefcase. His eyes widened in shock, and he quickly calculated. His eyes widened further.

"_Lillian!_"

Loki broke not one but two ultimate rules of the library, shouting Lillian's name as he pelted through the library's halls. Lillian turned and gave him a wry look and he skidded to a halt, flashing her a sheepish smile before placing the briefcase on one of the tables. "Look at this!"

"I'm assuming it's quite the 'this,' since your expression suggests that Christmas has come early," Lillian remarked with amusement. She started to open the briefcase, then quickly closed it again, giving Loki a stunned look. "How much is this?"

"At least five hundred thousand dollars," Loki answered quickly. "I don't know who it's from, but it's for _us._"

"We can fix the wiring," Lillian realized, an enthusiastic tone entering her voice. "Install better monitors, buy more books…"

"We can remodel this whole place!" Loki exclaimed excitedly.

"And with that will come proper living quarters," Lillian decided, poking Loki in the chest. "No more squeezing into a closet for you, young man."

Loki kissed her forehead, bubbling happily. Balder and Julia came to announce that the last of the books had been sorted, and wondered what on earth they had missed as they were dragged into an impromptu group hug.

* * *

A wide grin pulled at his lips, bearing the marks of hard-won triumph. Never before had he made it this far into Galaga. The game was both challenging and addictive, and gosh did he love it. The constantly running scan he was supposed to be monitoring beeped an alarm, and the SHIELD agent set aside his game and quickly changed his focus. His eyebrows climbed.

"Couls—Sitwell?"

The other agent came over. If he was bothered by the slip in names, he didn't say so. "What is it?" he asked.

"Bifrost activation, sir," the younger agent replied. "Some miles in from the coast of Maine." He looked up at Agent Sitwell inquiringly. "Should we inform Director Fury?"

Agent Sitwell shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "We need to gather more intel first."

Agent Sitwell walked away, his duties calling him elsewhere, and the other agent went to work. He released a quiet sigh of disappointment. It looked like Galaga would have to wait.

* * *

_Fin? Oh, as if._


End file.
